THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


$ 


THE 


SILVERADO   SQUATTERS 

STATE  NORMAL  SCHOOL, 

I. OS  AKGKLEB.   ■•-  '  'Ai 


BY 


ROBERT   LOUIS    STEVENSON 

AUTHOR    OF   "travels   WITH    A    DONKEY,"     "  AN     INLAND     BOAT   VOYAGE," 
"  TREASURE     ISLAND,"    ETC 


BOSTON 

ROBERTS     BROTHERS 

189s 


"  Vixerunt  nonuUi  in  agris,  delectati  re  sua  familiari.  His  idem 
propositura  fuit  quod  regibus,  ut  ne  qua  re  agerent,  ne  cui  parerent, 
libertate  uterentur:    cujus  proprium  est  sic  vivere  ut  velis." 

Cic,  De  Off.,  I.  XX. 


JEnifafrsitp  Press : 
John  Wilson  and  Son,  Cambridge. 


i 


•\ 


^■' 


TO 

VIRGIL  WILLIAMS 

AND 

DORA   NORTON    WILLIAMS 
Sfjesc  Sfectcl)cs 

ARE    AFFECTIONATELY    DEDICATED    BY   THEIR    FRIEND 

THE    AUTHOR. 


CONTENTS. 
In  the  Valley  : 

PAGE. 

I.     Calistoga 23 

II.     The  Petrified  Forest 35 

III.  Napa  Wine 46 

IV.  The  Scot  Abroad 61 

With  the  Children  of  Israel: 

I.     To  Introduce  Mr.  Kelmar    ....  73 

II.     First  Impressions  of  Silverado      .     .  83 

III.     The  Return 109 

The  Act  of  Squatting 123 

The  Hunter's  Family 149 

The  Sea  Fogs 177 

The  Toll  House 195 

A  Starry  Drive 211 

Episodes  in  the  Story  of  a  Mine     .     .     .  225 

Toils  and  Pleasures 255 


THE 

SILVERADO     SQUATTERS. 

4-  — * 

The  scene  of  this  little  book  is  on 
a  high  mountain.  There  are,  indeed, 
many  higher;  there  are  many  of  a  no- 
bler outline.  It  is  no  place  of  pilgrim- 
age for  the  summary  globe-trotter;  but 
to  one  who  lives  upon  its  sides,  Mount 
Saint  Helena  soon  becomes  a  centre  of 
interest.  It  is  the  Mont  Blanc  of  one 
section  of  the  Californian  Coast  Range, 
none  of  its  near  neighbors  risins;  to  one- 
half  its  altitude.  It  looks  down  on  much 
green,    intricate   country.       It    feeds    in 


lo  The  Silverado  Squatters, 

the  spring-time  many  splashing  brooks. 
From  its  summit  you  must  have  an 
excellent  lesson  of  geography ;  seeing, 
to  the  south,  San  Francisco  Bay,  with 
Tamalpais  on  the  one  hand  and  Monte 
Diablo  on  the  other ;  to  the  west  and 
thirty  miles  away,  the  open  ocean  ;  east- 
ward, across  the  corn-lands  and  thick  tule 
swamps  of  Sacramento  Valley,  to  where 
the  Central  Pacific  railroad  begins  to 
climb  the  sides  of  the  Sierras ;  and 
rtorthward,  for  what  I  know,  the  white 
head  of  Shasta  looking  down  on  Ore- 
gon. Three  counties,  Napa  County, 
Lake  County,  and  Sonoma  County, 
march  across  its  cliffy  shoulders.  Its 
naked  peak  stands  nearly  four  thousand 
five  hundred  feet  above  the  sea ;  its 
sides  are  fringed  with  forest;    and  the 


TJie  Silverado  Squatters.  1 1 

soil,  where  it  is  bare,  glows  warm  with 
cinnabar. 

Life  in  its  shadow  goes  rustically  for- 
ward. Bucks,  and  bears,  and  rattle- 
snakes, and  former  mining  operations, 
are  the  staple  of  men's  talk.  Agricul- 
ture has  only  begun  to  mount  above  the 
valley.  And  though  in  a  few  years  from 
now  tl>e  whole  district  may  be  smiling 
with  farms,  passing  trains  shaking  the 
mountain  to  the  heart,  many- windowed 
hotels  lighting  up  the  night  like  factories, 
and  a  prosperous  city  occupying  the  site 
of  sleepy  Calistoga;  yet  in  the  mean 
time,  around  the  foot  of  that  mountain 
the  silence  of  nature  reigns  in  a  great 
measure  unbroken,  and  the  people  of 
hill  and  valley  go  sauntering  about  their 
business  as  in  the  days  before  the  flood. 


12  The  Silverado  Squatters. 

To  reach  Mount  Saint  Helena  from 
San  Francisco,  the  traveller  has  twice 
to  cross  the  bay :  once  by  the  busy 
Oakland  Ferry,  and  again,  after  an  hour 
or  so  of  the  railway,  from  Vallejo  junc- 
tion to  Vallejo.  Thence  he  takes  rail 
once  more  to  mount  the  long  green 
strath  of   Napa  Valley. 

In  all  the  contractions  and  expan- 
sions of  that  inland  sea,  the  Bay  of  San 
Francisco,  there  can  be  few  drearier 
scenes  than  the  Vallejo  Ferry.  Bald 
shores  and  a  low,  bald  islet  enclose  the 
sea ;  through  the  narrows  the  tide  bub- 
bles, muddy  like  a  river.  When  we 
made  the  passage  (bound,  although  yet 
we  knew  it  not,  for  Silverado)  the 
steamer  jumped,  and  the  black  buoys 
were  dancing  in  the  jabble ;  the  ocean 


The  Silverado  Squatters.  13 

breeze  blew  killing  chill ;  and,  although 
the  upper  sky  was  still  unflecked  with 
vapor,  the  sea  fogs  were  pouring  in 
from  seaward,  over  the  hill-tops  of 
Marin  County,  in  ©r^e  great,  shapeless, 
silver  cloud. 

South  Vallejo  is  typical  of  many  Cal- 
ifornian  towns.  It  was  a  blunder ;  the 
site  has  proved  untenable ;  and,  al- 
though it  is  still  such  a  young  place 
by  the  scale  of  Europe,  it  has  already 
begun  to  be  deserted  for  its  neighbor 
and  namesake.  North  Vallejo.  A  long 
pier,  a  number  of  drinking  saloons,  a 
hotel  of  a  great  .  size,  marshy  pools 
where  the  frogs  keep  up  their  croaking, 
and  even  at  high  noon  the  entire  ab- 
sence of  any  human  face  or  voice  — 
these  are  the  marks  of  South  Vallejo. 


14  The  Silverado  Sqtiatters. 

Yet  there  was  a  tall  building  beside  the 
pier,  labelled  the  Star  Flour  Mills ;  and 
sea-going,  full-rigged  ships  lay  close 
along  shore,  waiting  for  their  cargo. 
Soon  these  would  be  plunging  round 
the  Horn,  soon  the  flour  from  the  Star 
Flour  Mills  would  be  landed  on  the 
wharves  of  Liverpool.  For  that,  too, 
is  one  of  England's  outposts ;  thither, 
to  this  gaunt  mill,  across  the  Atlantic 
and  Pacific  deeps  and  round  about  the 
icy  Horn,  this  crowd  of  great,  three- 
masted,  deep-sea  ships  come,  bringing 
nothing,  and    return    with    bread. 

The  Frisby  House,  for  that  was  the 
name  of  the  hotel,  was  a  place  of  fallen 
fortunes,  like  the  town.  It  was  now 
given  up  to  laborers,  and  partly  ruin- 
ous.    At  dinner  there  was  the  ordinary 


The  Silverado  Squatters.  15 

display  of  what  is  called  in  the  West  a 
two-bit  hotise:  the  tablecloth  checked 
red  and  white,  the  plague  of  flies,  the 
wire  hencoops  over  the  dishes,  the  great 
variety  and  invariable  vileness  of  the 
food,  and  the  rough  coatless  men  de- 
vouring it  in  silence.  In  our  bedroom, 
the  stove  would  not  burn,  though  it 
would  smoke ;  and  while  one  window 
would  not  open,  the  other  would  not 
shut.  There  was  a  view  on  a  bit  of 
empty  road,  a  few  dark  houses,  a  don- 
key wandering  with  its  shadow  on  a 
slope,  and  a  blink  of  sea,  with  a  tall  ship 
lying  anchored  in  the  moonlight.  Ail 
about  that  dreary  inn  frogs  sang  their 
ungainly  chorus. 

Early  the  next  morning  we  mounted 
the  hill  along  a  wooden  footway,  bridg- 


1 6  The  Silverado  Squatters. 

ing  one  marish  spot  after  another. 
Here  and  there,  as  we  ascended,  we 
passed  a  house  embowered  in  white 
roses.  More  of  the  bay  became  appar- 
ent, and  soon  the  blue  peak  of  Tamal- 
pais  rose  above  the  green  level  of  the 
island  opposite.  It  told  us  we  were 
still  but  a  little  way  from  the  city  of 
the  Golden  Gate,  already,  at  that  hour, 
beginning  to  awake  among  the  sand- 
hills. It  called  to  us  over  the  waters 
as  with  the  voice  of  a  bird.  Its  stately 
head,  blue  as  a  sapphire  on  the  paler 
azure  of  the  sky,  spoke  to  us  of  wider 
outlooks  and  the  bright  Pacific.  For 
Tamalpais  stands  sentry,  like  a  light- 
house, over  the  Golden  Gate,  between 
the  bay  and  the  open  ocean,  and  looks 
down   indi£ferently  on    both.     Even    as 


The  Silverado  Squatters.  17 

we  saw  and  hailed  it  from  Vallejo,  sea- 
men, far  out  at  sea,  were  scanning  it  with 
shaded  eyes ;  and,  as  if  to  answer  to  the 
thought,  one  of  the  great  ships  below  be- 
gan silently  to  clothe  herself  with  white 
sails,  homeward  bound  for  England. 

For  some  way  beyond  Vallejo  the 
railway  led  us  through  bald  green 
pastures.  On  the  west  the  rough  high- 
lands of  Marin  shut  off  the  ocean;  in 
the  midst,  in  long,  straggling,  gleaming 
arms,  the  bay  died  out  among  the 
grass ;  there  were  few  trees  and  few 
enclosures ;  the  sun  shone  wide  over 
open  uplands,  the  displumed  hills  stood 
clear  against  the  sky.  But  by  and  by 
these  hills  beo^an  to  draw  nearer  on 
either  hand,  and  first  thicket  and  then 
wood  began  to  clothe  their  sides ;  and 


1 8  The  Silverado  Squatters. 

soon  we  were  away  from  ail  signs  of 
the  sea's  neighborhood,  mounting  an 
inland,  irrigated  valley.  A  great  va- 
riety of  oaks  stood,  now  severally,  now 
in  a  becoming  grove,  among  the  fields 
and  vineyards.  The  towns  were  com- 
pact, in  about  equal  proportions,  of 
bright,  new  wooden  houses,  and  great 
and  growing  forest  trees ;  and  the 
chapel  bell  on  the  engine  sounded  most 
festally  that  sunny  Sunday,  as  we  drew 
up  at  one  green  town  after  another, 
with  the  townsfolk  trooping  in  their 
Sunday's  best  to  see  the  strangers,  with 
the  sun  sparkling  on  the  clean  houses, 
and  great  domes  of  foliage  humming 
overhead  in  the  breeze. 

This  pleasant  Napa  Valley  is,  at  its 
north  end,  blockaded  by  our  mountain. 


The  Silverado  Squatters.  19 

There,  at  Calistoga,  the  railroad  ceases, 
and  the  traveller  who  intends  faring 
farther,  to  the  Geysers  or  to  the  springs 
in  Lake -County,  must  cross  the  spurs 
of  the  mountain  by  stage.  Thus, 
Mount  Saint  Helena  is  not  only  a  sum- 
mit, but  a  frontier;  and,  up  to  the  time 
of  writing,  it  has  stayed  the  progress 
of   the    iron    horse. 


IN    THE    VALLEY. 


IN    THE    VALLEY. 


I. 

CALISTOGA. 

It  is  difficult  for  a  European  to  imag- 
ine Calistoga,  the  whole  place  is  so  new, 
and  of  such  an  occidental  pattern ;  the 
very  name,  I  hear,  was  invented  at  a 
supper-party  by  the  man  who  found  the 
springs. 

The  railroad  and  the  highway  come 
up  the  valley  about  parallel  to  one  an- 
other. The  street  of  Calistoga  joins 
them,  perpendicular  to  both  —  a  wide 
street,   with   bright,   clean,    low    houses,. 


24  The  Silverado  Squatters. 

here  and  there  a  veranda  over  the  side- 
walk, here  and  there  a  horse-post,  here 
and  there  lounging  townsfolk.  Other 
streets  are  marked  out,  and  most  likely 
named ;  for  these  towns  in  the  New 
World  begin  with  a  firm  resolve  to 
grow  larger,  Washington  and  Broadway, 
and  then  First  and  Second,  and  so 
forth,  being  boldly  plotted  out  as  soon 
as  the  community  indulges  in  a  plan. 
But,  in  the  meanwhile,  all  the  life  and 
most  of  the  houses  of  Calistoga  are  con- 
centrated upon  that  street  between  the 
railway  station  and  the  road.  I  never 
heard  it  called  by  any  name,  but  I 
will  hazard  a  guess  that  it  is  either 
Washington  or  Broadway.  Here  are  the 
blacksmith's,  the  chemist's,  the  general 
merchant's,    and    Kong    Sam    Kee,    the 


In  the   Valley.  25 

Chinese  laundryman's ;  here,  probably,  is 
the  office  of  the  local  paper  (for  the  place 
has  a  paper  —  they  all  have  papers) ; 
and  here  certainly  is  one  of  the  hotels, 
Cheeseborough's,  whence  the  daring 
Foss,  a  man  dear  to  legend,  starts  his 
horses  for  the  Geysers. 

It  must  be  remembered  that  we  are 
here  in  a  land  of  stage-drivers  and  high- 
waymen—  a  land,  in  that  sense,  like 
England  a  hundred  years  ago.  The 
highway  robber  —  road-agent,  he  is 
quaintly  called  —  is  still  busy  in  these 
parts.  The  fame  of  Vasquez  is  still 
young.  Only  a  few  years  ago,  the 
Lakeport  stage  was  robbed  a  mile  or 
two  from  Calistoga.  In  1879,  the  den- 
tist of  Mendocino  City,  fifty  miles  away 
upon  the  coast,  suddenly  threw  off  the 


26  The  Silverado  Squatters. 

garments  of  his  trade,  like  Grindoff  in 
"The  Miller  and  his  Men,"  and  flamed 
forth  in  his  second  dress  as  a  captain 
of  banditti.  A  great  robbery  was  fol- 
lowed by  a  long  chase,  a  chase  of  days 
if  not  of  weeks,  among  the  intricate 
hill-country ;  and  the  chase  was  followed 
by  much  desultory  fighting,  in  which 
several  —  and  the  dentist,  I  believe, 
amongst  the  number  —  bit  the  dust. 
The  grass  was  springing  for  the  first 
time,  nourished  upon  their  blood,  when 
I  arrived  in  Calistosfa.  I  am  reminded 
of  another  highwayman  of  that  same 
year.  "He  had  been  unwell,"  so  ran 
his  humorous  defence,  "and  the  doctor 
told  him  to  take  something,  so  he  took 
the  express-box." 

The    cultus    of    the    stage-coachman 


Ill  the   Valley.  2"/ 

always  flourishes  highest  where  there 
are  thieves  on  the  road,  and  where 
the  guard  travels  armed,  and  the  stage 
is  not  only  a  link  between  country  and 
city,  and  the  vehicle  of  news,  but  has 
a  faint  warfaring  aroma,  like  a  man 
who  should  be  brother  to  a  soldier. 
California  boasts  her  famous  stage- 
drivers,  and  among  the  famous  Foss 
is  not  forgotten.  Along  the  unfenced, 
abominable  mountain  roads,  he  launches 
his  team  with  small  reo^ard  to  human 
life  or  the  doctrine  of  probabilities. 
Flinching  travellers,  who  behold  them- 
selves coasting  eternity  at  every  cor- 
ner, look  with  natural  admiration  at 
their  driver's  huge,  impassive,  fleshy 
countenance.  He  has  the  very  face 
for   the    driver   in   Sam    Weller's  anec- 


28  The  Silverado  Squatters. 

dote,  who  upset  the  election  party  at 
the  required  point.  Wonderful  tales 
are  current  of  his  readiness  and  skill. 
One  in  particular,  of  how  one  of  his 
horses  fell  at  a  ticklish  passage  of  the 
road,  and  how  Foss  let  slip  the  reins, 
and,  driving  over  the  fallen  animal, 
arrived  at  the  next  stage  with  only 
three.  This  I  relate  as  I  heard  it, 
without  guarantee. 

I  only  saw  Foss  once,  though, 
strange  as  it  may  sound,  I  have 
twice  talked  with  him.  He  lives  out 
of  Calistoga,  at  a  ranch  called  Foss- 
ville.  One  evening,  after  he  was  long 
gone  home,  I  dropped  into  Cheese- 
borough's,  and  was  asked  if  I  should 
like  to  speak  with  Mr.  Foss.  Suppos- 
ing that  the    interview  was  impossible, 


hi  the    Valley.  29 

and  that  I  was  merely  called  upon  to 
subscribe  the  general  sentiment,  I  boldly- 
answered  "Yes."  Next  moment,  I  had 
one  instrument  at  my  ear,  another  at 
my  mouth,  and  found  myself,  with 
nothing  in  the  world  to  say,  conversing 
with  a  man  several  miles  off  among 
desolate  hills.  Foss  rapidly  and  some- 
what plaintively  brought  the  conver- 
sation to  an  end ;  and  he  returned  to 
his  night's  grog  at  Fossville,  while  I 
strolled  forth  asrain  on  Calistoga  hii^h 
street.  But  it  was  an  odd  thing  that 
here,  on  what  we  are  accustomed  to 
consider  the  very  skirts  of  civilization, 
I  should  have  used  the  telephone  for 
the  first  time  in  my  civilized  career. 
So  it  goes  in  these  young  countries ; 
telephones,  and   telegraphs,    and    news- 


30  The  Silverado  Squatters. 

papers,  and  advertisements  running  far 
ahead  among  the  Indians  and  the 
grizzly  bears. 

Alone,  on  the  other  side  of  the  rail- 
way, stands  the  Springs  Hotel,  with 
its  attendant  cottages.  The  floor  of 
the  valley  is  extremely  level  to  the 
very  roots  of  the  hills ;  only  here  and 
there  a  hillock,  crowned  with  pines, 
rises  like  the  barrow  of  some  chieftain 
famed  in  war ;  and  right  against  one 
of  these  hillocks  is  the  Springs  Hotel 
—  is  or  was;  for  since  I  was  there  the 
place  has  been  destroyed  by  fire,  and 
has  risen  again  from  its  ashes.  A  lawn 
runs  about  the  house,  and  the  lawn  is 
in  its  turn  surrounded  by  a  system  of 
little  five-roomed  cottages,  each  with  a 
veranda  and    a  weedy  palm  before  the 


hi  tJie    Valley.  31 

door.  Some  of  the  cottages  are  let  to 
residents,  and  these  are  wreathed  in 
flowers.  The  rest  are  occupied  by  or- 
dinary visitors  to  the  hotel ;  and  a  very 
pleasant  way  this  is,  by  which  you 
have  a  little  country  cotta*ge  of  your 
own,  without  domestic  burdens,  and 
by  the  day  or  week. 

The  whole  neighborhood  of  Mount 
Saint  Helena  is  full  of  sulphur  and  of 
boiling  springs.  The  Geysers  are  fa- 
mous ;  they  were  the  great  health  re- 
sort of  the  Indians  before  the  coming 
of  the  whites.  Lake  County  is  dotted 
with  spas;  Hot  Springs  and  White 
Sulphur  Springs  are  the  names  of  two 
stations  on  the  Napa  Valley  railroad ; 
and  Calistoga  itself  seems  to  repose  on 
a   mere   film    above   a   boiling,   subter- 


32  The  Silverado  Squatters. 

ranean  lake.  At  one  end  of  the  hotel 
enclosure  are  the  springs  from  which 
it  takes  its  name,  hot  enough  to 
scald  a  child  seriously  while  I  was 
there.  At  the  other  end,  the  tenant 
of  a  cottage  sank  a  well,  and  there 
also  the  water  came  up  boiling.  It 
keeps  this  end  of  the  valley  as  warm  as 
toast.  I  have  gone  across  to  the  hotel 
a  little  after  five  in  the  morning,  when 
a  sea  fog  from  the  Pacific  was  hanging 
thick  and  gray,  and  dark  and  dirty  over- 
head, and  found  the  thermometer  had 
been  up  before  me,  and  had  already 
climbed  among  the  nineties ;  and  in  the 
stress  of  the  day  it  was  sometimes  too 
hot  to  move  about. 

But  in  spite  of  this  heat  from  above 
and   below,  doing    one    on    both  sides, 


In  I  lie    Valley.  33 

Calistoga  was  a  pleasant  place  to  dwell 
in  ;  beautifully  green,  for  it  was  then 
that  favored  moment  in  the  Californian 
year,  when  the  rains  are  over  and  the 
dusty  summer  has  not  yet  set  in  ;  often 
visited  by  fresh  airs,  now  from  the 
mountain,  now  across  Sonoma  from  the 
sea;  very  quiet,  very  idle,  very  silent  but 
for  the  breezes  and  the  cattle  bells 
afield ;  and  there  was  something  satis- 
factory in  the  sight  of  that  great  moun- 
tain that  enclosed  us  to  the  north, 
whether  it  stood,  robed  in  sunshine, 
quaking  to  its  topmost  pinnacle  with 
the  heat  and  brightness  of  the  day,  or 
whether  it  set  itself  to  weaving  vapors, 
wisp  after  wisp  growing,  trembling,  fleet- 
ing, and  fading  in  the  blue. 

The     tangled,    woody,     and     almost 


34  The  Silverado  Squatters. 

trackless  foot-hills  that  enclose  the  val- 
ley, shutting  it  off  from  Sonoma  on  the 
west,  and  from  Yolo  on  the  east  — 
rough  as  they  were  in  outline,  dug  out 
by  winter  streams,  crowned  by  cliffy 
bluffs  and  nodding  pine  trees  —  were 
dwarfed  into  satellites  by  the  bulk  and 
bearino^  of  Mount  Saint  Helena.  She 
over-towered  them  by  two-thirds  of  her 
own  stature.  She  excelled  them  by  the 
boldness  of  her  profile.  Her  great  bald 
summit,  clear  of  trees  and  pasture,  a 
cairn  of  quartz  and  cinnabar,  rejected 
kinship  with  the  dark  and  shaggy  wil- 
derness of  lesser  hill-tops. 


In  the   Valley.  35 


II. 

THE    PETRIFIED    FOREST. 

We  drove  off  from  the  Springs  Hotel 
about  three  in  the  afternoon.  The  sun 
warmed  me  to  the  heart.  A  broad,  cool 
wind  streamed  pauselessly  down  the  val- 
ley, laden  with  perfume.  Up  at  the  top 
stood  Mount  Saint  Helena,  a  bulk  of 
mountain,  bare  atop,  with  tree-fringed 
spurs,  and  radiating  warmth.  Once  we 
saw  it  framed  in  a  grove  of  tall  and 
exquisitely  graceful  white  oaks,  in  line 
and  color  a  finished  composition.  We 
passed  a  cow  stretched  by  the  roadside, 
her  bell  slowly  beating  time  to  the 
movement  of  her  ruminating  jaws,  her 


36  The  Silverado  Squatters. 

big  red  face  crawled  over  by  half  a  dozen 
flies,  a  monument  of  content. 

A  little  farther,  and  we  struck  to  the 
left  up  a  mountain  road,  and  for  two 
hours  threaded  one  valley  after  another, 
green,  tangled,  full  of  noble  timber,  giv- 
ing us  every  now  and  again  a  sight  of 
Mount  Saint  Helena  and  the  blue  hilly 
distance,  and  crossed  by  many  streams, 
through  which  we  splashed  to  the  car- 
riage-step. To  the  right  or  tlie  left, 
there  was  scarce  any  trace  of  man  but 
the  road  we  followed ;  I  think  we  passed 
but  one  rancheros  house  in  the  whole 
distance,  and  that  was  closed  and 
smokeless.  But  we  had  the  society  of 
these  bright  streams  —  dazzlingly  clear, 
as  is  their  wont,  splashing  from  the  wheels 
in  diamonds,  and  striking  a  lively  cool- 


In  the    Valley.  t^J 

ness  throuGfh  the  sunshine.  And  what 
with  the  innumerable  variety  of  greens, 
the  masses  of  fohage  tossing  in  the 
breeze,  the  glimpses  of  distance,  the 
descents  into  seemingly  impenetrable 
thickets,  the  continual  dodging  of  the 
road  which  made  haste  to  plunge  again 
into  the  covert,  we  had  a  fine  sense  of 
woods,  and  spring-time,  and  the  open 
air. 

Our  driver  gave  me  a  lecture  by  the 
way  on  Californian  trees  —  a  thing  I 
was  much  in  need  of,  having  fallen 
among  painters  who  know  the  name  of 
nothing,  and  Mexicans  who  know  the 
name  of  nothing  in  English.  He 
taught  me  the  madrona,  the  manzanita, 
the  buckeye,  the  maple ;  he  showed  me 
the  crested  mountain  quail ;  he  showed 


38  The  Silverado  Squatters. 

me  where  some  young  redwoods  were 
already  spiring  heavenwards  from  the 
ruins  of  the  old  ;  for  in  this  district  all 
had  already  perished :  redwoods  and 
redskins,  the  two  noblest  indigenous 
living    things,  alike    condemned. 

At  length,  in  a  lonely  dell,  we  came 
on  a  huge  wooden  gate  with  a  sign 
upon  it  like  an  inn.  "  The  Petrified 
Forest.  Proprietor:  C.  Evans,"  ran 
the  legend.  Within,  on  a  knoll  of 
sward,  was  the  house  of  the  proprietor, 
and  another  smaller  house  hard  by  to 
serve  as  a  museum,  where  photographs 
and  petrifactions  were  retailed.  It  was 
a  pure  little  isle  of  touristry  among 
these   solitary   hills. 

The  proprietor  was  a  brave  old  white- 
faced    Swede.     He    had   wandered   this 


In  tJie   Valley.  39 

way,  Heaven  knows  how,  and  taken 
up  his  acres —  I  forget  how  many  years 
ago  —  all  alone,  bent  double  with  sci- 
atica, and  with  six  bits  in  his  pocket 
and  an  axe  upon  his  shoulder.  Long, 
useless  years  of  seafaring  had  thus 
discharged  him  at  the  end,  penniless 
and  sick.  Without  doubt  he  had  tried 
his  luck  at  the  diggings,  and  got  no 
good  from  that ;  without  doubt  he  had 
loved  the  bottle,  and  lived  the  life  of 
Jack  ashore.  But  at  the  end  of  these 
adventures,  here  he  came ;  and,  the 
place  hitting  his  fancy,  down  he  sat 
to  make  a  new  life  of  it,  far  from 
crimps  and  the  salt  sea.  And  the 
very  sight  of  his  ranch  had  done  him 
good.  It  was  "  the  handsomest  spot 
in    the     Californy    mountains."     "  Is  n't 


40  The  Silverado  Sqiiatiers. 

it  handsome,  now  ? "  he  said.  Every 
penny  he  makes  goes  into  that  ranch 
to  make  it  handsomer.  Then  the  cH- 
mate,  with  the  sea-breeze  every  after- 
noon in  the  hottest  summer  weather, 
had  gradually  cured  the  sciatica;  and 
his  sister  and  niece  were  now  domes- 
ticated with  him  for  company — or, 
rather,  the  niece  came  only  once  in 
the  two  days,  teaching  music  the  mean- 
while in  the  valley.  And  then,  for  a 
last  piece  of  luck,  "  the  handsomest 
spot  in  the  Californy  mountains"  had 
produced  a  petrified  forest,  which  Mr. 
Evans  now  shows  at  the  modest  figure 
of  half  a  dollar  a  head,  or  two-thirds 
of  his  capital  when  he  first  came  there 
with    an    axe   and   a   sciatica. 

This     tardy    favorite     of     fortune  — 


In  the    Valley.  41 

hobbling  a  little,  I  think,  as  if  in 
memory  of  the  sciatica,  but  with  not 
a  trace  that  I  can  remember  of  the 
sea  —  thoroughly  ruralized  from  head 
to  foot,  proceeded  to  escort  us  up  the 
hill  behind  his  house. 

"  Who  first  found  the  forest  ? "  asked 
my  wife. 

"  The  first  ?  I  was  that  man,"  said 
he.  "  I  was  cleaning  up  the  pasture 
for  my  beasts,  when  I  found  this''  — 
kicking  a  great  redwood,  seven  feet 
in  diameter,  that  lay  there  on  its  side, 
hollow  heart,  clinging  lumps  of  bark, 
all  changed  into  gray  stone,  with  veins 
of  quartz  between  what  had  been  the 
layers    of    the    wood. 

"  Were   you    surprised  t " 

"Surprised?     No!      What    would    I 


42  The  Silverado  Squatters. 

be  surprised  about  ?  What  did  I  know 
about  petrifactions  —  following  the  sea  ? 
Petrifaction  !  There  was  no  such  word 
in  my  language !  I  knew  about  putre- 
faction, though !  I  thought  it  was  a 
stone ;  so  would  you,  if  you  was 
cleaning   up   pasture." 

And  now  he  had  a  theory  of  his 
own,  which  I  did  not  quite  grasp, 
except  that  the  trees  had  not  "  grewed  " 
there.  But  he  mentioned,  with  evi- 
dent pride,  that  he  differed  from  all 
the  scientific  people  who  had  visited 
the  spot;  and  he  flung  about  such 
words  as  "  tufa "  and  "  siHca "  with 
careless  freedom. 

When  I  mentioned  I  was  from  Scot- 
land, "  My  old  country,"  he  said ; 
"  my    old    country  "  —  with    a    smiling 


In  the   Valley.  43 

look  and  a  tone  of  real  affection  in  his 
voice.  I  was  mightily  surprised,  for  he 
was  obviously  Scandinavian,  and  begged 
him  to  explain.  It  seemed  he  had 
learned  his  English  and  done  nearly  all 
his  sailing  in  Scotch  ships.  "  Out  of 
Glasgow,"  said  he,  "  or  Greenock ;  but 
that's  all  the  same  —  they  all  hail  from 
Glasgow."  And  he  was  so  pleased 
with  me  for  being  a  Scotsman,  and 
his  adopted  compatriot,  that  he  made 
me  a  present  of  a  very  beautiful  piece 
of  petrifaction  —  I  believe  the  most 
beautiful    and    portable    he   had. 

Here  was  a  man,  at  least,  who  was 
a  Swede,  a  Scot,  and  an  American, 
acknowledo^inor  some  kind  alleo^iance 
to  three  lands.  Mr.  Wallace's  Scoto- 
Circassian  will  not  fail  to  come  before 


44  The  Silverado  Squatters. 

the  reader.  I  have  myself  met  and 
spoken  with  a  Fifeshire  German, 
whose  combination  of  abominable  ac- 
cents struck  me  dumb.  But,  indeed, 
I  think  we  all  belong  to  many  coun- 
tries. And  perhaps  this  habit  of  much 
travel,  and  the  engendering  of  scat- 
tered friendships,  may  prepare  the 
euthanasia  of  ancient  nations. 
,  And  the  forest  itself.?  Well,  on 
a  tangled,  briery  hillside  —  for  the 
pasture  would  bear  a  little  further 
cleaning  up,  to  my  eyes  —  there  lie 
scattered  thickly  various  lengths  of 
petrified  trunk,  such  as  the  one  already 
mentioned.  It  is  very  curious,  of 
course,  and  ancient  enough,  if  that 
were  all.  Doubtless,  the  heart  of  the 
geologist   beats    quicker   at    the   sight ; 


hi  the   Valley.  45 

but,  for  my  part,  I  was  mightily  un- 
moved. Sight-seeing  is  the  art  of 
disappointment. 

"  There  's  nothing  under  heaven  so  blue, 
That 's  fairly  worth  the  travelHng  to." 

But,  fortunately,  Heaven  rewards  us 
with  many  agreeable  prospects  and  ad- 
ventures by  the  way ;  and  sometimes, 
when  we  go  out  to  see  a  petrified  for- 
est, prepares  a  far  more  delightful  cu- 
riosity in  the  form  of  Mr.  Evans,  whom 
may  all  prosperity  attend  throughout  a 
long  and  green  old  age. 


46  The  Silverado  Squatters, 


III. 

NAPA    WINE. 

I  WAS  interested  in  Californian  wine. 
Indeed,  I  am  interested  in  all  wines,  and 
have  been  all  my  life,  from  the  raisin 
wine  that  a  schoolfellow  kept  secreted 
in  his  play-box  up  to  my  last  discov- 
ery, those  notable  Valtellines,  that  once 
shone  upon  the  board  of  Csesar. 

Some  of  us,  kind  old  Pagans,  watch 
with  dread  the  shadows  falling  on  the 
age ;  how  the  unconquerable  worm 
invades  the  sunny  terraces  of  France, 
and  Bordeaux  is  no  more,  and  the 
Rhone  a  mere  Arabia  Petrasa.  Chateau 
Neuf  is  dead,  and   I  have  never  tasted 


In  the    Valley.  47 

it ;  Hermitage  —  a  hermitage  indeed 
from  all  life's  sorrows  —  lies  expiring  by 
the  river.  And  in  the  place  of  these 
imperial  elixirs,  beautiful  to  every  sense, 
gem-hued,  flower-scented,  dream-compel- 
lers,  behold  upon  the  quays  at  Cette  the 
chemicals  arranged ;  behold  the  analyst 
at  Marseilles,  raising  hands  in  obsecra- 
tion, attesting  god  Lyoeus,  and  the  vats 
staved  in,  and  the  dishonest  wines 
poured  forth  among  the  sea.  It  is  not 
Pan  only  ;  Bacchus,  too,  is  dead. 

If  wine  is  to  withdraw  its  most  poetic 
countenance,  the  sun  of  the  white  din- 
ner-cloth, a  deity  to  be  invoked  by  two* 
or  three,  all  fervent,  hushing  their  talk, 
degusting  tenderly,  and  storing  reminis- 
cences —  for  a  bottle  of  good  wine,  like 
a   good  act,   shines  ever  in    the    retro* 


48  The  Silverado  Squatters. 

spect.  If  wine  is  to  desert  us,  go  thy 
ways,  old  Jack  !  Now  we  begin  to  have 
compunctions,  and  look  back  at  the 
brave  bottles  squandered  upon  dinner- 
parties, where  the  guests  drank  grossly, 
discussing  politics  the  while,  and  even 
the  schoolboy  "  took  his  whack,"  like 
liquorice  water.  And  at  the  same  time, 
we  look  timidly  forward,  with  a  spark  of 
hope,  to  where  the  new  lands,  already 
weary  of  producing  gold,  begin  to  green 
with  vineyards.  A  nice  point  in  human 
history  falls  to  be  decided  by  Californian 
and  Australian  wines. 

Wine  in  California  is  still  in  the  ex- 
perimental stage  ;  and  when  you  taste  a 
vintage,  grave  economical  questions  are 
involved.  The  beginning  of  vine-plant- 
ing is  like  the  beginning  of  mining  for 


In  the    Valley.  49 

the  precious  metals :  the  wine-grower 
also  "  prospects."  One  corner  of  land 
after  another  is  tried  with  one  kind  of 
grape  after  another.  This  is  a  failure  ; 
that  is  better ;  a  third  best.  So,  bit  by- 
bit,  they  grope  about  for  their  Clos 
Vougeot  and  Lafite.  Those  lodes  and 
pockets  of  earth,  more  precious  than  the 
precious  ores,  that  yield  inimitable  fra- 
grance and  soft  fire ;  those  virtuous 
Conanzas,  where  the  soil  has  sublimated 
under  sun  and  stars  to  something  finer, 
and  the  wine  is  bottled  poetry ;  these 
still  lie  undiscovered ;  chaparral  con- 
ceals, thicket  embowers  them  ;  the 
miner  chips  the  rock  and  wanders 
farther,  and  the  grizzly  muses  undis- 
turbed. But  there  they  bide  their  hour, 
awaitmg   their  Columbus ;    and    nature 


)/V-, 


50  The  Silverado  Squatters, 

nurses  and  prepares  them.  The  smack 
of  Californian  earth  shall  linger  on  the 
palate  of  your  grandson. 

Meanwhile  the  wine  is  merely  a  good 
wine  ;  the  best  that  I  have  tasted  better 
than  a  Beaujolais,  and  not  unlike.  But 
the  trade  is  poor;  it  lives  from  hand  to 
mouth,  putting  its  all  into  experiments, 
and  forced  to  sell  its  vintages.  To  find 
one  properly  matured,  and  bearing  its 
own  name,  is  to  be  fortune's  favorite. 

Bearing  its  own  name,  I  say,  and 
dwell  upon  the  innuendo. 

"  You  want  to  know  why  California 
wine  is  not  drunk  in  the  States? "  a  San 
Francisco  wine  merchant  said  to  me, 
after  he  had  shown  me  through  his 
premises.     "  Well,  here  's  the  reason." 

And  opening  a  large  cupboard,  fitted 


hi  the   Valley.  51 

with  many  little  drawers,  he  proceeded 
to  shower  me  all  over  with  a  great  vari- 
ety of  gorgeously  tinted  labels,  blue,  red, 
or  yellow,  stamped  with  crown  or  coro^ 
net,  and  hailing  from  such  a  profusion 
of  clos  and  chateaux,  that  a  single  de- 
partment could  scarce  have  furnished 
forth  the  names.  But  it  was  strange 
that  all  looked  unfamiliar. 

"  Chateau  X }  "  said  I ;  "  I  never 

heard  of  that." 

"  I  dare  say  not,"  said  he.  "  I  had 
been  reading  one  of  X 's  novels." 

They  were  all  castles  in  Spain !  But 
that  sure  enough  is  the  reason  why 
California  wine  is  not  drunk  in  the 
States. 

Napa  valley  has  been  long  a  seat  of 
the  wine-growing  industry.     It  did   not 


52  The  Silverado  Squatters. 

here  begin,  as  it  does  too  often,  in  the 
low  valley  lands  along  the  river,  but  took 
at  once  to  the  rough  foot-hills,  where 
alone  it  can  expect  to  prosper.  A  bask- 
ing inclination,  and  stones,  to  be  a  reser- 
voir of  the  day's  heat,  seem  necessary  to 
the  soil  for  wine ;  the  grossness  of  the 
earth  must  be  evaporated,  its  marrow 
daily  melted  and  refined  for  ages  ;  until 
at  length  these  clods  that  break  below 
our  footing,  and  to  the  eye  appear  but 
common  earth,  are  truly  and  to  the  per- 
ceiving mind  a  masterpiece  of  nature. 
The  dust  of  Richebourg,  which  the  wind 
carries  away,  what  an  apotheosis  of  the 
dust !  Not  man  himself  can  seem  a 
stranger  child  of  that  brown,  friable 
powder,  than  the  blood  and  sun  in  that 
old  flask  behind  the  fagots. 


In  the    Valley.  53 

A  Californian  vineyard,  one  of  man's 
outposts  in  the  wilderness,  has  features 
of  its  own.  There  is  nothing  here  to 
remind  you  of  the  Rhine  or  Rhone,  of 
the  low  cote  d'ar^  or  the  infamous  and 
scabby  deserts  of  Champagne  ;  but  all  is 
green,  solitary,  covert.  We  visited  two 
of  them,  Mr.  Schram's  and  Mr.  M'Eck- 
ron's,  sharing  the  same  glen. 

Some  way  down  the  valley  below 
Calistoga,  we  turned  sharply  to  the 
south  and  plunged  into  the  thick  of 
the  wood.  A  rude  trail  rapidly  mount- 
ing ;  a  little  stream  tinkling  by  on  the 
one  hand,  big  enough  perhaps  after 
the  rains,  but  already  yielding  up  its 
life ;  overhead  and  on  all  sides  a  bower 
of  green  and  tangled  thicket,  still 
fragrant  and  still  flower-bespangled   by 


54  The  Silverado  Squatters. 

the  early  season,  where  thimbleberry 
played  the  part  of  our  English  haw- 
thorn, and  the  buckeyes  were  putting 
forth  their  twisted  horns  of  blossom : 
through  all  this,  we  struggled  toughly 
upwards,  canted  to  and  fro  by  the 
roughness  of  the  trail,  and  continually 
switched  across  the  face  by  sprays  of 
leaf  or  blossom.  The  last  is  no  great 
inconvenience  at  home;  but  here  in 
California  it  is  a  matter  of  some  mo- 
ment. For  in  all  woods  and  by  every 
wayside  there  prospers  an  abomina- 
ble shrub  or  weed,  called  poison-oak, 
whose  very  neighborhood  is  venomous 
to  some,  and  whose  actual  touch  is 
avoided  by  the  most  impervious. 

The    two    houses,    with     their   vine- 
yards, stood    each   in  a  green    niche  of 


hi  the    Valley.  55 

its  own  in  this  steep  and  narrow  forest 
dell.  Though  they  were  so  near,  there 
was  already  a  good  difference  in  level ; 
and  Mr.  M'Eckron's  head  must  be  a 
long  way  under  the  feet  of  Mr.  Schram. 
No  more  had  been  cleared  than  was 
necessary  for  cultivation  ;  close  around 
each  oasis  ran  the  tangled  wood ;  the 
glen  enfolds  them  ;  thei^e  they  lie  bask- 
ing in  sun  and  silence,  concealed  from 
all  but  the  clouds  and  the  mountain 
birds. 

Mr.  M'Eckron's  is  a  bachelor  estab- 
lishment ;  a  little  bit  of  a  wooden 
house,  a  small  cellar  hard  by  in  the 
hillside,  and  a  patch  of  vines  planted 
and  tended  single-handed  by  himself. 
He  had  but  recently  begun  ;  his  vines 
were   young,    his   business  young  also; 


56  The  Silverado  Squatters. 

but  I  thought  he  had  the  look  of  the 
man  who  succeeds.  He  hailed  from 
Greenock :  he  remembered  his  father 
putting  him  inside  Mons  Meg,  and 
that  touched  me  home ;  and  we  ex- 
changed a  word  or  two  of  Scotcli, 
which  pleased  me  more  than  you  would 
fancy. 

Mr.  Schram's,  on  the  other  hand,  is  the 
oldest  vineyard  in  the  valley,  eighteen 
years  old,  I  think;  yet  he  began  a 
penniless  barber,  and  even  after  he  had 
broken  ground  up  here  with  his  black 
malvoisies,  continued  for  long  to  tramp 
the  valley  with  his  razor.  Now,  his 
place  is  the  picture  of  prosperity : 
stuffed  birds  in  the  veranda,  cellars 
far  dug  into  the  hillside,  and  resting 
on    pillars    like    a    bandit's    cave :  —  all 


In  the    Valley.  57 

trimness,  varnish,  flowers,  and  sunshine, 
among  the  tangled  wildwood.  Stout, 
smiling  Mrs.  Schram,  who  has  been 
to  Europe  and  apparently  all  about 
the  States  for  pleasure,  entertained 
Fanny  in  the  veranda,  while  I  was 
tasting  wines  in  the  cellar.  To  Mr. 
Schram  this  was  a  solemn  office;  his 
serious  gusto  warmed  my  heart;  pros- 
perity had  not  yet  wholly  banished  a 
certain  neophite  and  girlish  trepidation, 
and  he  followed  every  sip  and  read  my 
face  with  proud  anxiety.  I  tasted  all.  I 
tasted  every  variety  and  shade  of  Schram- 
berger,  red  and  white  Schramberger, 
Burgundy  Schramberger,  Schramberger 
Hock,  Schramberger  Golden  Chasse- 
las,  the  latter  with  a  notable  bouquet, 
and  I  fear    to  think   how  many   more. 


58  The  Silverado  Squatters. 

Much  of  It  goes  to  London  —  most,  I 
think ;  and  Mr.  Schram  has  a  great 
notion  of  the  English  taste. 

In  this  wild  spot,  I  did  not  feel  the 
sacredness  of  ancient  cultivation.  It 
was  still  raw,  it  was  no  Marathon,  and 
no  Johannisberg;  yet  the  stirring  sun- 
light, and  the  growing  vines,  and  the 
vats  and  bottles  in  the  cavern,  made  a 
pleasant  music  for  the  wind.  Here, 
also,  earth's  cream  was  being  skimmed 
and  garnered ;  and  the  London  cus- 
tomers can  taste,  such  as  it  is,  the 
tang  of  the  earth  in  this  green  valley. 
So  local,  so  quintessential  is  a  wine, 
that  it  seems  the  very  birds  in  the 
veranda  might  communicate  a  flavor, 
and  that  romantic  cellar  influence  the 
bottle  next  to  be  uncorked  in  London, 


In  the    Valley.  59 

and    the    smile    of    jolly    Mr.     Schram 
might  mantle  in  the  glass. 

But  these  are  but  experiments.  All 
thino^s  in  this  new  land  are  movinof  fur- 
ther  on :  the  wine-vats  and  the  miner's 
blasting  tools  but  picket  for  a  night,  like 
Bedouin  pavilions;  and  to-morrow,  to 
fresh  woods !  This  stir  of  change  and 
these  perpetual  echoes  of  the  moving 
footfall,  haunt  the  land.  Men  move 
eternally,  still  chasing  Fortune ;  and, 
Fortune  found,  still  wander.  As  we 
drove  back  to  Calistoga,  the  road  lay 
empty  of  mere  passengers,  but  its 
green  side  was  dotted  with  the  camps 
of  travelling  families :  one  cumbered 
with  a  great  wagonful  of  household 
stuff,  settlers  going  to  occupy  a  ranch 
they  had   taken    up  in    Mendocino,  or 


6o  The  Silverado  Squatters. 

perhaps  Tehama  County  ;  another,  a 
party  in  dust  coats,  men  and  women, 
whom  we  found  camped  in  a  grove 
on  the  roadside,  all  on  pleasure  bent, 
with  a  Chinaman  to  cook  for  them, 
and  who  waved  their  hands  to  us  as 
we  drove  by. 


In  the   Valley.  6i 


IV. 

THE     SCOT     ABROAD. 

A  FEW  pages  back,  I  wrote  that  a  man 
belonged,  in  these  days,  to  a  variety 
,of  countries ;  but  the  old  land  is  still 
the  true  love,  the  others  are  but  pleas- 
ant infidelities.  Scotland  is  indefin-  y 
able ;  it  has  no  unity  except  upon  the 
map.  Two  languages,  many  dialects, 
innumerable  forms  of  piety,  and  count- 
less local  patriotisms  and  prejudices, 
part  us  among  ourselves  more  widely 
than  the  extreme  east  and  west  of  that 
great  continent  of  America.  When  I 
am  at  home,  I  feel  a  man  from  Glas- 
gow  to    be    something   like    a    rival,   a 


62  The  Silverado  Sqitatters. 

man  from  Barra  to  be  more  than  half 
a  foreigner.  Yet  let  us  meet  in  some 
far  country,  and,  whether  we  hail  from 
the  braes  of  Manor  or  the  braes  of 
Mar,  some  ready-made  affection  joins 
us  on  the  instant.  It  is  not  race.  Look 
at  us.  One  is  Norse,  one  Celtic,  and 
another  Saxon.  It  is  not  community 
of  tonorue.  We  have  it  not  amono^ 
ourselves ;  and  we  have  it  almost  to 
perfection,  with  English,  or  Irish,  or 
American.  It  is  no  tie  of  faith,  for 
we  detest  each  other's  errors.  And 
yet  somewhere,  deep  down  in  the  heart 
of  each  one  of  us,  something  yearns 
for  the  old  land,  and  the  old  kindly 
people. 

Of     all     mysteries     of     the     human 
heart,  this  is  perhaps  the  most  inscrut- 


In  the   Valley.  63 

able.  There  is  no  special  loveliness 
in  that  gray  country,  with  its  rainy, 
sea-beat  archipelago ;  its  fields  of  dark 
mountains;  its  unsightly  places,  black 
with  coal ;  its  treeless,  sour,  unfriendly 
looking  corn-lands ;  its  quaint,  gray, 
castled  city,  where  the  bells  clash  of 
a  Sunday,  and  the  wind  squalls,  and 
the  salt  showers  fly  and  beat.  I  do 
not  even  know  if  I  desire  to  live  there; 
but  let  me  hear,  in  some  far  land,  a 
kindred  voice  sing  out,  "  Oh,  why  left 
I  my  hame  ? "  and  it  seems  at  once  as 
if  no  beauty  under  the  kind  heavens, 
and  no  society  of  the  wise  and  good, 
can  repay  me  for  my  absence  from 
my  country.  And  though,  I  think,  I 
would  rather  die  elsewhere,  yet  in  my 
heart    of    hearts    I    long    to    be    buried 


64  The  Silverado  Squatters. 

among  good  Scots  clods.  I  will  say 
it  fairly,  it  grows  on  me  with  every 
year:  there  are  no  stars  so  lovely  as 
Edinburgh  street-lamps.  When  I  for- 
get thee,  auld  Reekie,  may  my  right 
hand  forget   its  cunning! 

The  happiest  lot  on  earth  is  to  be 
born  a  Scotchman.  You  must  pay  for 
it  in  many  ways,  as  for  all  other  advan- 
tages on  earth.  You  have  to  learn 
the  paraphrases  and  the  shorter  cate- 
chism;  you  generally  take  to  drink; 
your  youth,  as  far  as  I  can  find  out, 
is  a  time  of  louder  war  against  society, 
of  more  outcry  and  tears  and  turmoil, 
than  if  you  had  been  born,  for  instance, 
in  England.  (But  somehow  life  is 
warmer  and  closer;  the  hearth  burns 
more    redly ;  the  lights  of   home  shine 


In  the   Valley.  65 

softer  on  the  rainy  street;  the  very 
names,  endeared  in  verse  and  music, 
cHng  nearer  round  our  hearts./  An 
Englishman  may  meet  an  EngHsh- 
man  to-morrow,  upon  Chimborazo,  and 
neither  of  them  care ;  but  when  the 
Scotch  wine-grower  told  me  of  Mons 
Meg,   it   was    like    magic. 

**  From  the  dim  shieling  on  the  misty  island 
Mountains  divide  us,  and  a  world  of  seas  ; 
Yet  still  our  hearts  are  true,  our  hearts  are  High- 
land, 
And  we,  in  dreams,  behold  the  Hebrides." 

And,  Highland  and  Lowland,  all  our 
hearts  are    Scotch. 

Only  a  few  days  after  I  had  seen 
M'Eckron,  a  message  reached  me  in 
my  cottage.  It  was  a  Scotchman  who 
had  come  down   a  long  way  from   the 

hills   to   market.     He    had   heard  there 

s 


66  The  Silverado  Squatters. 

was  a  countryman  in  Calistoga,  and 
came  round  to  the  hotel  to  see  him. 
We  said  a  few  words  to  each  other; 
we  had  not  much  to  say  —  should 
never  have  seen  each  other  had  we 
stayed  at  home,  separated  alike  in 
space  and  in  society ;  and  then  we 
shook  hands,  and  he  went  his  way 
again  to  his  ranch  among  the  hills, 
and  that  was  all. 

Another  Scotchman  there  was,  a  resi- 
dent, who  for  the  mere  love  of  the  com- 
mon country,  douce,  serious,  religious 
man,  drove  me  all  about  the  valley,  and 
took  as  much  interest  in  me  as  if  I  had 
been  his  son  :  more,  perhaps  ;  for  the 
son  has  faults  too  keenly  felt,  while  the 
abstract  countryman  is  perfect  —  like  a 
whiff  of  peats. 


In  the   Valley.  67 

And  there  was  yet  another.  Upon 
him  I  came  suddenly,  as  he  was  calmly 
entering  my  cottage,  his  mind  quite 
evidently  bent  on  plunder :  a  man  of 
about  fifty,  filthy,  ragged,  roguish,  with 
a  chimney-pot  hat  and  a  tail  coat,  and  a 
pursing  of  his  mouth  that  might  have 
been  envied  by  an  elder  of  the  kirk. 
He  had  just  such  a  face  as  I  have  seen 
a  dozen  times  behind  the  plate. 

"Hullo,  sir!"  I  cried.  "Where  are 
you  going  ? " 

He  turned  round  without  a  quiver. 

"  You  're  a  Scotchman,  sir  ?  "  he  said 
gravely.  "  So  am  I  ;  I  come  from 
Aberdeen.  This  is  my  card,"  present- 
ing me  with  a  piece  of  pasteboard  which 
he  had  raked  out  of  some  gutter  in  the 
period    of   the    rains.     "  I   was   just   ex- 


68  The  Silverado  Squatters. 

amining  this  palm,"  he  continued,  indi- 
cating the  misbegotten  plant  before  our 
door,  "  which  is  the  largest  specimen  I 
have  yet  observed  in  Califoarnia." 

There  were  four  or  five  larger  within 
sight.  But  where  was  the  use  of  argu- 
ment ?  He  produced  a  tape-line,  made 
me  help  him  to  measure  the  tree  at  the 
level  of  the  ground,  and  entered  the  fig- 
ures in  a  large  and  filthy  pocket-book, 
all  with  the  gravity  of  Solomon.  He 
then  thanked  me  profusely,  remarking 
that  such  little  services  were  due  be- 
tween countrymen ;  shook  hands  with 
me,  "  for  auld  lang  syne,"  as  he  said ; 
and  took  himself  solemnly  away,  radiat- 
ing dirt  and  humbug  as  he  went. 

A  more  impudent  rascal  I  have  never 
seen  ;  and  had  he  been  an  American,  I 


In  the   Valley.  69 

should  have  raged.     But  then  he  came 
from  Aberdeen. 

A  month  or  two  after  this  encounter 
of  mine,  there  came  a  Scot  to  Sacra- 
mento—  perhaps  from  Aberdeen.  Any- 
way, there  never  was  any  one  more 
Scotch  in  this  wide  world.  He  could 
sing  and  dance,  and  drink,  I  presume  ; 
and  he  played  the  pipes  with  vigor  and 
success.  All  the  Scotch  in  Sacramento 
became  infatuated  with  him,  and  spent 
their  spare  time  and  money,  driving  him 
about  in  an  open  cab,  between  drinks, 
while  he  blew  himself  scarlet  at  the 
pipes.  This  is  a  very  sad  story.  After 
he  had  borrowed  money  from  every  one, 
he  and  his  pipes  suddenly  disappeared 
from  Sacramento,  and  when  I  last  heard, 
the  police  were  looking  for  him. 


70  The  Silverado  Squatters. 

I  cannot  say  how  this  story  amused 
me,  when  I  felt  myself  so  thoroughly 
ripe  on  both  sides  to  be  duped  in  the 
same  way. 

It  is  at  least  a  curious  thing,  to  con- 
clude, that  the  races  which  wander 
widest,  Jews  and  Scotch,  should  be  the 
most  clannish  in  the  world.  But  per- 
haps these  two  are  cause  and  effect: 
"  For  ye  were  strangers  in  the  land  of 
Egypt." 


WITH  THE  CHILDREN  OF  ISRAEL. 


WITH    THE   CHILDREN   OF 
ISRAEL. 


TO    INTRODUCE    MR.    KELMAR. 

One  thing  in  this  new  country  very 
particularly  strikes  a  stranger,  and  that 
is  the  number  of  antiquities.  Already 
there  have  been  many  cycles  of  pop- 
ulation succeeding  each  other,  and 
passing  away  and  leaving  behind  them 
relics.  These,  standing  on  into  changed 
times,  strike  the  imagination  as  forcibly 
as  any  pyramid  or  feudal  tower.  The 
towns,   like   the   vineyards,  are   experi- 


74  The  Silverado  Squatters. 

mentally  founded :  they  grow  great  and 
prosper  by  passing  occasions ;  and 
when  the  lode  comes  to  an  end,  and 
the  miners  move  elsewhere,  the  town 
remains  behind  them,  like  Palmyra  in 
the  desert.  I  suppose  there  are,  in 
no  country  in  the  world,  so  many 
deserted  towns  as  here  in  California. 

The  whole  neighborhood  of  Mount 
Saint  Helena,  now  so  quiet  and  rural, 
was  once  alive  with  mining  camps 
and  villages.  Here  there  would  be 
two  thousand  souls  under  canvas ; 
there  one  thousand  or  fifteen  hundred 
ensconced,  as  if  for  ever,  in  a  town  of 
comfortable  houses.  But  the  luck  had 
failed,  the  mines  petered  out ;  the  army 
of  miners  had  departed,  and  left  this 
quarter  of  the  world  to  the  rattlesnakes 


With  the  Children  of  Israel.      75 

and  deer  and  grizzlies,  and  to  the  slower 
but  steadier  advance  of  husbandry. 

It  was  with  an  eye  on  one  of  these 
deserted  places,  Pine  Flat,  on  the 
Geysers  road,  that  we  had  come  first 
to  Calistoga.  There  is  something  sin- 
gularly enticing  in  the  idea  of  going, 
rent-free,  into  a  ready-made  house. 
And  to  the  British  merchant,  sitting 
at  home  at  ease,  it  may  appear  that, 
with  such  a  roof  over  your  head  and 
a  spring  of  clear  water  hard  by,  the 
whole  problem  of  the  squatter's  exist- 
ence would  be  solved.  Food,  however, 
has  yet  to  be  considered.  I  will  go  as 
far  as  most  people  on  tinned  meats ; 
some  of  the  brighest  moments  of  my 
life  were  passed  over  tinned  mulliga- 
tawney   in    the    cabin   of   a   sixteen-ton 


76  The  Silverado  Squatters. 

schooner,  storm-stayed  in  Portree  Bay; 
but  after  suitable  experiments,  I  pro- 
nounce authoritatively  that  man  can- 
not live  by  tins  alone.  Fresh  meat 
must  be  had  on  an  occasion.  It  is 
true  that  the  great  Foss,  driving  by 
along  the  Geysers  road,  wooden-faced, 
but  glorified  with  legend,  might  have 
been  induced  to  bring  us  meat,  but 
the  great  Foss  could  hardly  bring  us 
milk.  To  take  a  cow  would  have  in- 
volved taking  a  field  of  grass  and  a 
milkmaid ;  after  which  it  would  have 
been  hardly  worth  while  to  pause,  and 
we  might  have  added  to  our  colony 
a  flock  of  sheep  and  an  experienced 
butcher. 

It   is   really  very   disheartening   how 
we  depend  on  other  people  in  this  life. 


Wiih  the  Children  of  Israel.      jy 

"  Mihi  est  propositum,"  as  you  may- 
see  by  the  motto,  "  id  quod  regibus ;  " 
and  behold  it  cannot  be  carried  out, 
unless  I  find  a  neighbor  rolling  in 
cattle. 

Now,  my  principal  adviser  in  this 
matter  was  one  whom  I  will  call  Kel- 
mar.  That  was  not  what  he  called 
himself,  but  as  soon  as  I  set  eyes  on 
him,  I  knew  it  was  or  ought  to  be 
his  name ;  I  am  sure  it  will  be  his 
name  among  the  angels.  Kelmar  was 
the  storekeeper,  a  Russian  Jew,  good- 
natured,  in  a  very  thriving  way  of 
business,  and,  on  equal  terms,  one  of 
the  most  serviceable  of  men.  He  also 
had  something  of  the  expression 
of  a  Scotch  country  elder,  who,  by 
some     peculiarity,    should     chance     to 


78  The  Silverado  Squatters. 

be  a  Hebrew.  He  had  a  projecting 
under  lip,  with  which  he  continually 
smiled,  or  rather  smirked.  Mrs.  Kel- 
mar  was  a  singularly  kind  woman ; 
and  the  oldest  son  had  quite  a  dark 
and  romantic  bearing,  and  might  be 
heard  on  summer  evenings  playing 
sentimental    airs    on    the    violin. 

I  had  no  idea,  at  the  time  I  made 
his  acquaintance,  what  an  important 
person  Kelmar  was.  But  the  Jew 
storekeepers  of  California,  profiting  at 
once  by  the  needs  and  habits  of  the 
people,  have  made  themselves  in  too 
many  cases  the  tyrants  of  the  rural 
population.  Credit  is  offered,  is  pressed 
on  the  new  customer,  and  when  once 
he  is  beyond  his  depth,  the  tune 
changes,   and    he   is   from    thenceforth 


With  the  Children  of  Israel.      79 

a  white  slave.  I  believe,  even  from 
the  little  I  saw,  that  Kelmar,  if  he 
chose  to  put  on  the  screw,  could 
send  half  the  farmers  packing  in  a 
radius  of  seven  or  eight  miles  round 
Calistoga.  These  are  continually  pay- 
ing him,  but  are  never  suffered  to  get 
out  of  debt.  He  palms  dull  goods 
upon  them,  for  they  dare  not  refuse  to 
buy;  he  goes  and  dines  with  them 
when  he  is  on  an  outing,  and  no  man 
is  loudlier  welcomed ;  he  is  their  fam- 
ily friend,  the  director  of  their  business, 
and,  to  a  degree  elsewhere  unknown 
in    modern    days,    their    king. 

For  some  reason,  Kelmar  always 
shook  his  head  at  the  mention  of 
Pine  Flat,  and  for  some  days  I  thought 
he  disapproved  of  the  whole  scheme  and 


8o  The  Silverado  Squatters. 

was  proportionately  sad.  One  fine  morn- 
ing, however,  he  met  me,  wreathed  in 
smiles.  He  had  found  the  very  place 
for  me  —  Silverado,  another  old  mining 
town,  right  up  the  mountain.  Rufe  Han- 
son, the  hunter,  could  take  care  of  us 
—  fine  people  the  Hansons;  we  should 
be  close  to  the  Toll  House,  where  the 
Lakeport  stage  called  daily ;  it  was 
the  best  place  for  my  health,  besides. 
Rufe  had  been  consumptive,  and  was 
now  quite  a  strong  man,  ain't  it?  In 
short,  the  place  and  all  its  accom- 
paniments seemed  made  for  us  on 
purpose. 

He  took  me  to  his  back  door, 
whence,  as  from  every  point  of  Calis- 
toga.  Mount  Saint  Helena  could  be 
seen    towering    in    the    air.     There,    in 


■  With  the  Children  of  Israel.      8 1 

the  nick,  just  where  the  eastern  foot- 
hills joined  the  mountain,  and  she 
herself  began  to  rise  above  the  zone 
of  forest  —  there  was  Silverado.  '  The 
name  had  already  pleased  me ;  the 
high  station  pleased  me  still  more.  I 
began  to  inquire  with  some  eagerness. 
It  was  but  a  little  while  ago  that  Sil- 
verado was  a  great  place.  The  mine 
—  a  silver  mine,  of  course  —  had  prom- 
ised great  things.  There  was  quite  a 
lively  population,  with  several  hotels 
and  boarding-houses ;  and  Kelmar  him- 
self had  opened  a  branch  store,  and  done 
extremely  well  —  "Ain't  it?"  he  said, 
•appealing  to  his  wife.  And  she  said, 
"  Yes ;  extremely  well."  Now  there 
was    no    one    living    in    the    town    but 

Rufe    the    hunter ;    and    once    more    I 
6 


82  The  Silverado  Squatters. 

heard  Rufe's    praises   by  the  yard,  and 
this  time  sung  in  chorus. 

I  could  not  help  perceiving  at  the 
time  that  there  was  something  under- 
neath ;  that  no  unmixed  desire  to  have 
us  comfortably  settled  had  inspired  the 
Kelmars  with  this  flow  of  words.  But 
I  was  impatient  to  be  gone,  to  be  about 
my  kingly  project ;  and  when  we  were 
offered  seats  in  Kelmar's  wagon,  I 
accepted  on  the  spot.  The  plan  of 
their  next  Sunday's  outing  took  them, 
by  good  fortune,  over  the  border  into 
Lake  County.  They  would  carry  us  so 
far,  drop  us  at  the  Toll  House,  present 
us  to  the  Hansons,  and  call  for  us 
again  on  Monday  morning  early. 


With  the  Children  of  Israel.      83 


II. 

FIRST    IMPRESSIONS    OF    SILVERADO. 

We  were  to  leave  by  six  precisely ;  that 
was  solemnly  pledged  on  both  sides ; 
and  a  messenger  came  to  us  the  last 
thing  at  night,  to  remind  us  of  the  hour. 
But  it  was  eight  before  we  got  clear 
of  Calistoga ;  Kelmar,  Mrs.  Kelmar,  a 
friend  of  theirs  whom  we  named  Abra- 
mina,  her  little  daughter,  my  wife,  my- 
self, and,  stowed  away  behind  us,  a  clus- 
ter of  ship's  coffee-kettles.  These  last 
were  highly  ornamental  in  the  sheen 
of  their  bright  tin,  but  I  could  invent 
no  reason  for  their  presence.  Our  car- 
riageful  reckoned  up,  as  near  as  we  could 


84  The  Silverado  Squatters, 

get  at  it,  some  three  hundred  years  to 
the  six  of  us.  Four  of  the  six,  besides, 
were  Hebrews.  But  I  never,  in  all  my 
life,  was  conscious  of  so  strong  an  at- 
mosphere of  holiday.  No  word  was 
spoken  but  of  pleasure ;  and  even  when 
we  drove  in  silence,  nods  and  smiles 
went  round  the  party  like  refreshments. 
The  sun  shone  out  of  a  cloudless  sky. 
Close  at  the  zenith  rode  the  belated 
moon,  still  clearly  visible,  and,  along  one 
margin,  even  bright.  The  wind  blew  a 
gale  from  the  north  ;  the  trees  roared ; 
the  corn  and  the  deep  grass  in  the  val- 
ley fled  in  whitening  surges  ;  the  dust 
towered  into  the  air  along  the  road  and 
dispersed  like  the  smoke  of  battle.  It 
was  clear  in  our  teeth  from  the  first, 
and  for  all  the  windings  of  the  road  it 


With  the  Children  of  Israel.       85 

managed  to  keep  clear  in  our  teeth  until 
the  end. 

For  some  two  miles  we  rattled 
through  the  valley,  skirting  the  eastern 
foot-hills ;  then  we  struck  off  to  the 
right,  through  haugh-land,  and  pres- 
ently, crossing  a  dry  watercourse,  en- 
tered the  Toll  road,  or,  to  be  more 
local,  entered  on  "  the  grade."  The 
road  mounts  the  near  shoulder  of 
Mount  Saint  Helena,  bound  northward 
into  Lake  County.  In  one  place  it 
skirts  along  the  edge  of  a  narrow  and 
deep  canyon,  filled  with  trees,  and  I  was 
glad,  indeed,  not  to  be  driven  at  this 
point  by  the  dashing  Foss.  Kelmar, 
with  his  unvarying  smile,  jogging  to  the 
motion  of  the  trap,  drove  for  all  the 
world  like  a  good,  plain,  country  clergy- 


86  The  Silverado  Squatters. 

man  at  home  ;  and   I  profess  I  blessed 
him  unawares  for  his  timidity. 

Vineyards  and  deep  meadows,  islanded 
and  framed  with  thicket,  gave  place 
more  and  more  as  we  ascended  to  woods 
of  oak  and  madrona,  dotted  with  enor- 
mous pines.  It  was  these  pines,  as  they 
shot  above  the  lower  wood,  that  pro- 
duced that  pencilling  of  single  trees  I 
had  so  often  remarked  from  the  valley. 
Thence,  looking  up  and  from  however 
far,  each  fir  stands  separate  against  the 
sky  no  bigger  than  an  eyelash ;  and  all 
together  lend  a  quaint,  fringed  aspect  to 
the  hills.  The  o*ak  is  no  baby;  even 
the  madrona,  upon  these  spurs  of 
Mount  Saint  Helena,  comes  to  a  fine 
bulk  and  ranks  with  forest  trees ;  but 
the  pines  look  down  upon  the  rest  for 


Wt^k  tJie  CJiiLciren  of  Israel.       8y 

underwood.  As  Mount  Saint  Helena 
among  her  foot-hills,  so  these  dark 
giants  out-top  their  fellow-vegetables. 
Alas !  if  they  had  left  the  redwoods,  the 
pines,  in  turn,  would  have  been  dwarfed. 
But  the  redwoods,  fallen  from  their  high 
estate,  are  serving  as  family  bedsteads, 
or  yet  more  humbly  as  field  fences, 
along  all  Napa  Valley. 

A  rough  smack  of  resin  was  in  the 
air,  and  a  crystal  mountain  purity.  It 
came  pouring  over  these  green  slopes 
by  the  oceanful.  The  woods  sang 
aloud,  and  gave  largely  of  their  health- 
ful breath.  Gladness  seemed  to  inhabit 
these  upper  zones,  and  we  had  left  in- 
difference behind  us  in  the  valley.  "  I 
to  the  hills  will  lift  mine  eyes  !  "  ^here 
are  days   in  a  life  when  thus  to  climb 


88      \     The  Silverado  Squatters. 

out  of  the  lowlands,  seems  like  scaling 
heaven. 

As  we  continued  to  ascend,  the  wind 
fell  upon  us  with  increasing  strength. 
It  was  a  wonder  how  the  two  stout 
horses  managed  to  pull  us  up  that  steep 
incline  and  still  face  the  athletic  opposi- 
tion of  the  wind,  or  how  their  great  eyes 
were  able  to  endure  the  dust.  Ten  min- 
utes after  we  went  by,  a  tree  fell,  block- 
ing the  road ;  and  even  before  us  leaves 
were  thickly  strewn,  and  boughs  had 
fallen,  large  enough  to  make  the  passage 
difficult.  But  now  we  were  hard  by  the 
summit.  The  road  crosses  the  ridge, 
just  in  the  nick  that  Kelmar  showed  me 
from  below,  and  then,  without  pause, 
plunges  down  a  deep,  thickly  wooded 
glen  on  the  farther  side.     At  the  high- 


Witk  the  Children  of  Israel.       89 

est  point  a  trail  strikes  up  the  main  hill 
to  the  leftward  ;  and  that  leads  to  Silver- 
ado. A  hundred  yards  beyond,  and  in 
a  kind  of  elbow  of  the  glen,  stands  the 
Toll  House  Hotel.  We  came  up  the 
one  side,  were  caught  upon  the  summit 
by  the  whole  weight  of  the  wind  as  it 
poured  over  into  Napa  Valley,  and  a 
minute  after  had  drawn  up  in  shelter, 
but  all  buffeted  and  breathless,  at  the 
Toll  House  door. 

A  water-tank,  and  stables,  and  a  gray 
house  of  two  stories,  with  gable  ends 
and  a  veranda,  are  jammed  hard  against 
the  hillside,  just  where  a  stream  has 
cut  for  itself  a  narrow  canyon,  filled 
with  pines.  The  pines  go  right  up 
overhead ;  a  little  more  and  the  stream 
might  have  played,  like  a  fire-hose,  on 

f  I 


90  The  Silverado  Squatters. 

the  Toll  House  roof.  In  front  the 
ground  drops  as  sharply  as  it  rises 
behind.  There  is  just  room  for  the 
road  and  a  sort  of  promontory  of  cro- 
quet ground,  and  then  you  can  lean 
over  the  edge  and  look  deep  below 
you  through  the  wood.  I  said  cro- 
quet ground,  not  green;  for  the  surface 
was  of  brown,  beaten  earth.  The  toll- 
bar  itself  was  the  only  other  note  of 
originality :  a  long  beam,  turning  on 
a  post,  and  kept  slightly  horizontal  by 
a  counterweight  of  stones.  Regularly 
about  sundown  this  rude  barrier  was 
swung,  like  a  derrick,  across  the  road 
and  made  fast,  I  think,  to  a  tree  upon 
the  farther  side. 

On  our  arrival  there  followed  a  gay 
scene  in  the  bar.     I  was  presented  to 


IViik  the  Children  of  Israel.       91 

Mr.  Corwin,  the  landlord ;  to  Mr. 
Jennings,  the  engineer,  who  lives  there 
for  his  health ;  to  Mr.  Hoddy,  a  most 
pleasant  little  gentleman,  once  a  mem- 
ber of  the  Ohio  Legislature,  again  the 
editor  of  a  local  paper,  and  now,  with 
undiminished  dignity,  keeping  the  Toll 
House  bar.  I  had  a  number  of  drinks 
and  cigars  bestowed  on  me,  and  enjoyed 
a  famous  opportunity  of  seeing  Kelmar 
in  his  glory,  friendly,  radiant,  smiling, 
steadily  edging  one  of  the  ship's  ket- 
tles on  the  reluctant  Corwin.  Corwin, 
plainly  aghast,  resisted  gallantly,  and 
for  that  bout  victory  crowned  his 
arms. 

At  last  we  set  forth  for  Silverado 
on  foot.  Kelmar  and  his  jolly  Jew 
girls    were    full    of    the    sentiment    of 


92  The  Silverado  Squatters. 

Sunday  outings,  breathed  geniality  and 
vagueness,  and  suffered  a  little  vile 
boy  from  the  hotel  to  lead  them  here 
and  there  about  the  woods.  For  three 
people  all  so  old,  so  bulky  in  body, 
and  belonging  to  a  race  so  venerable, 
they  could  not  but  surprise  us  by  their 
extreme  and  almost  imbecile  youthful- 
ness  of  spirit.  They  were  only  going 
to  stay  ten  minutes  at  the  Toll  House ; 
had  they  not  twenty  long  miles  of  road 
before  them  on  the  other  side }  Stay 
to  dinner?  Not  they!  Put  up  the 
horses  ?  Never.  Let  us  attach  them 
to  the  veranda  by  a  wisp  of  straw 
rope,  such  as  would  not  have  held  a 
person's  hat  on  that  blustering  day. 
And  with  all  these  protestations  of 
hurry,    they   proved    irresponsible    like 


With  the  Children  of  Israel.       93 

children.  Kelmar  himself,  shrewd  old 
Russian  Jew,  with  a  smirk,  that  seemed 
just  to  have  concluded  a  bargain  to 
its  satisfaction,  intrusted  himself  and 
us  devoutly  to  that  boy.  Yet  the  boy 
was  patently  fallacious ;  and  for  that 
matter  a  most  unsympathetic  urchin, 
raised  apparently  on  gingerbread.  He 
was  bent  on  his  own  pleasure,  nothing 
else ;  and  Kelmar  followed  him  to  his 
ruin,  with  the  same  shrewd  smirk.  If 
the  boy  said  there  was  "  a  hole  there 
in  the  hill "  —  a  hole,  pure  and  simple, 
neither  more  nor  less  —  Kelmar  and 
his  Jew  girls  would  follow  him  a  hun- 
dred yards  to  look  complacently  down 
that  hole.  For  two  hours  we  looked 
for  houses ;  and  for  two  hours  they 
followed     us,    smelling     trees,    picking 


94  The  Silverado  Squatters. 

flowers,  foisting  false  botany  on  the 
unwary.  Had  we  taken  five,  with 
that  vile  lad  to  head  them  off  on  idle 
divagations,  for  five  they  would  have 
smiled  and  stumbled  through  the 
woods. 

However,  we  came  forth  at  length, 
and  as  by  accident,  upon  a  lawn,  sparse 
planted  like  an  orchard,  but  with  forest 
instead  of  fruit  trees.  That  was  the 
site  of  Silverado  mining  town.  A  piece 
of  ground  was  levelled  up,  where 
Kelmar's  store  had  been ;  and  facing 
that  we  saw  Rufe  Hanson's  house,  still 
bearing  on  its  front  the  legend  Silver- 
ado Hotel.  Not  another  sign  of  habi- 
tation. Silverado  town  had  all  been 
carted  from  the  scene;  one  of  the 
houses    was    now    tlie    scliool-house    far 


With  the  Children  of  Israel.       95 

down  the  road ;  one  was  gone  here, 
one  there,  but  all  were  gone  away.  It 
was  now  a  sylvan  solitude,  and  the 
silence  was  unbroken  but  by  the  great, 
vague  voice  of  the  wind.  Some  days 
before  our  visit,  a  grizzly  bear  had 
been  sporting  round  the  Hansons' 
chicken-house. 

Mrs.  Hanson  was  at  home  alone,  we 
found.  Rufe  had  been  out  late  after  a 
"bar,"  had  risen  late,  and  was  now 
gone,  it  did  not  clearly  appear  whither. 
Perhaps  he  had  had  wind  of  Kel- 
mar's  coming,  and  was  now  ensconced 
among  the  underwood,  or  watching 
us  from  the  shoulder  of  the  mountain. 
We,  hearing  there  were  no  houses  to 
be  had,  were  for  immediately  giving 
up    all    hopes    of    Silverado.     But   this-, 


g6  The  Silverado  Squatters. 

somehow,  was  not  to  Kelmar's  fancy. 
He  first  proposed  that  we  should  "  camp 
someveres  around,  ain't  it  ? "  waving 
his  hand  cheerily  as  though  to  weave 
a  spell ;  and  when  that  was  firmly  re- 
jected, he  decided  that  we  must  take 
up  house  with  the  Hansons.  Mrs. 
Hanson  had  been,  from  the  first,  flus- 
tered, subdued,  and  a  little  pale ;  but 
from  this  proposition  she  recoiled  with 
haggard  indignation.  So  did  we,  who 
would  have  preferred,  in  a  manner  of 
speaking,  death.  But  Kelmar  was  not 
to  be  put  by.  He  edged  Mrs.  Hanson 
into  a  corner,  where  for  a  long  time 
he  threatened  her  with  his  forefinger, 
like  a  character  in  Dickens;  and  the 
poor  woman,  driven  to  her  intrench- 
ments,    at     last     remembered     with    a 


Wil/i  I  he  Children  of  Israel.       97 

shriek  that  there  were  still  some  houses 
at  the  tunnel. 

Thither  we  went;  the  Jews,  who 
should  already  have  been  miles  into 
Lake  County,  still  cheerily  accompany- 
in2[  us.  For  about  a  furlons^  we  fol- 
lowed  a  good  road  along  the  hillside 
through  the  forest,  until  suddenly  that 
road  widened  out  and  came  abruptly 
to  an  end.  A  canyon,  woody  below, 
red,  rocky,  and  naked  overhead,  was 
here  walled  across  by  a  dump  of  rolling 
stones,  dangerously  steep,  and  from 
twenty  to  thirty  feet  in  height.  A 
rusty  iron  chute  on  wooden  legs  came 
flying,  like  a  monstrous  gargoyle,  across 
the  parapet.  It  was  down  this  that 
they  poured  the  precious  ore ;  and 
below    here    the   carts    stood    to    wait 


98  The  Silverado  Squatters. 

their    lading,    and    carry    it    mill-ward 
down  the  mountain. 

The  whole  canyon  was  so  entirely 
blocked,  as  if  by  some  rude  guerilla 
fortification,  that  we  could  only  mount 
by  lengths  of  wooden  ladder,  fixed  in 
the  hillside.  These  led  us  round  the 
further  corner  of  the  dump ;  and  when 
they  were  at  an  end,  we  still  perse- 
vered over  loose  rubble  and  wading 
deep  in  poison-oak,  till  we  struck  a 
triangular  platform,  filling  up  the  whole 
glen,  and  shut  in  on  either  hand  by 
bold  projections  of  the  mountain.  Only 
in  front  the  place  was  open  like  the 
proscenium  of  a  theatre,  and  we  looked 
forth  into  a  threat  realm  of  air,  and 
down  upon  tree-tops  and  hill-tops  and 
far    and     near    on     wild     and     varied 


With  the  Children  of  Israel.       99 

country.  The  place  still  stood  as  on 
the  day  it  was  deserted :  a  line  of 
iron  rails  with  a  bifurcation ;  a  truck 
in  working  order;  a  world  of  lumber, 
old  wood,  old  iron ;  a  blacksmith's 
forge  on  one  side,  half  buried  in  the 
leaves  of  dwarf  madronas ;  and  on  the 
other,    an    old   brown    wooden    house. 

Fanny  and  I  dashed  at  the  house. 
It  consisted  of  three  rooms,  and  was 
so  plastered  against  the  hill,  that  one 
room  was  right  atop  of  another,  that 
the  upper  floor  was  more  than  twice 
as  large  as  the  lower,  and  that  all 
three  apartments  must  be  entered  from 
a  different  side  and  level.  Not  a 
window-sash  remained.  The  door  of 
the  lower  room  was  smashed,  and 
one     panel     hung    in    splinters.      We 


TOO         The  Silverado  Squatters. 

entered  that,  and  found  a  fair  amount 
of  rubbish  :  sand  and  gravel  that  had 
been  sifted  in  there  by  the  mountain 
winds ;  straw,  sticks,  and  stones ;  a 
table,  a  barrel ;  a  plate-rack  on  the 
wall ;  two  home-made  bootjacks,  signs 
of  miners  and  their  boots ;  and  a  pair 
of  papers  pinned  on  the  boarding, 
headed  respectively  "Funnel  No.  i," 
and  "  Funnel  No.  2,"  but  with  the  tails 
torn  away.  The  window,  sashless  of 
course,  was  choked  with  the  green  and 
sweetly  smelling  foliage  of  a  bay ;  and 
through  a  chink  in  the  floor,  a  spray 
of  poison-oak  had  shot  up  and  was 
handsomely  prospering  in  the  interior. 
It  was  my  first  care  to  cut  away  that 
poison-oak,  Fanny  standing  by  at  a 
respectful   distance. 


With  the  Children  of  Israel.     loi 

That    was    our   first    improvement    by 
which   we   took  possession. 

The  room  immediately  above  could 
only  be  entered  by  a  plank  propped 
against  the  threshold,  along:  which  the 
intruder  must  foot  it  gingerly,  clutching 
for  support  to  sprays  of  poison-oak,  the 
proper  product  of  the  country.  Herein 
was,  on  either  hand,  a  triple  tier  of  beds, 
where  miners  had  once  lain ;  and  the 
other  gable  was  pierced  by  a  sashless 
window  and  a  doorless  doorway  opening 
on  the  air  of  heaven,  five  feet  above  the 
ground.  As  for  the  third  room,  which 
entered  squarely  from  the  ground-level, 
but  higher  up  the  hill  and  further  up 
the  canyon,  it  contained  only  rubbish 
and  the  uprights  for  another  triple  tier 
of  beds. 


I02         The  Silverado  Squatters, 

The  whole  building  was  overhung  by 
a  bold,  lion-like,  red  rock.  Poison-oak, 
sweet  bay  trees,  calcanthus,  brush,  and 
chaparral,  grew  freely  but  sparsely  all 
about  it.  In  front,  in  the  strong  sun- 
shine, the  platform  lay  overstrewn  with 
busy  litter,  as  though  the  labors  of  the 
mine  might  begin  again  to-morrow  in 
the  morning. 

Following  back  into  the  canyon, 
among  the  mass  of  rotting  plant  and 
through  the  flowering  bushes,  we  came 
to  a  great  crazy  staging,  with  a  wry 
windlass  on  the  top;  and  clambering  up, 
we  could  look  into  an  open  shaft,  lead- 
ing edgeways  down  into  the  bowels  of 
the  mountain,  trickling  with  water,  and 
Ht  by  some  stray  sun-gleams,  whence  I 
know  not. 


Wiik  the  Children  of  Israel.      103 

In  that  quiet  place  the  still,  far-away 
tinkle  of  the  water-drops  was  loudly 
audible.  Close  by,  another  shaft  led 
edgeways  up  into  the  superincumbent 
shoulder  of  the  hill.  It  lay  partly  open  ; 
and  sixty  or  a  hundred  feet  above  our 
head,  we  could  see  the  strata  propped 
apart  by  solid  wooden  wedges,  and  a 
pine,  half  undermined,  precariously  nod- 
ding on  the  verge.  Here  also  a  rugged, 
horizontal  tunnel  ran  straight  into  the 
unsunned  bowels  of  the  rock.  This 
secure  angle  in  the  mountain's  flank 
v/as,  even  on  this  wild  day,  as  still  as  my 
lady's  chamber.  But  in  the  tunnel  a 
cold,  wet  draught  tempestuously  blew. 
Nor  have  I  ever  known  that  place  other- 
wise than  cold  and  windy. 

Such  was  our  first  prospect  of  Juan 


I04         The  Silverado  Squatters. 

Silverado.  I  own  I  had  looked  for  some- 
thing different :  a  clique  of  neighborly 
houses  on  a  village  green,  we  shall  say, 
all  empty  to  be  sure,  but  swept  and  var- 
nished ;  a  trout  stream  brawling  by ; 
great  elms  or  chestnuts,  humming  with 
bees  and  nested  in  by  song  birds  ;  and 
the  mountains  standing  round  about, 
as  at  Jerusalem.  Here,  mountain  and 
house  and  the  old  tools  of  industry  were 
all  alike  rusty  and  downfalling.  The 
hill  was  here  wedged  up,  and  there 
poured  forth  its  bowels  in  a  spout  of 
broken  mineral ;  man  with  his  picks  and 
powder,  and  Nature  with  her  own  great 
blasting  tools  of  sun  and  rain,  laboring 
together  at  the  ruin  of  that  proud  moun- 
tain. The  view  up  the  canyon  was  a 
glimpse  of  devastation ;  dry  red  minerals 


Wiih  the  Children  of  Israel      105 

sliding  together,  here  and  there  a  crag, 
here  and  there  dwarf  thicket  clinging  in 
the  general  glissade,  and  over  all  a  bro- 
ken outline  trenching  on  the  blue  of 
heaven.  Downwards  indeed,  from  our 
rock  eyrie,  we  beheld  the  greener  side 
of  nature ;  and  the  bearing  of  the  pines 
and  the  sweet  smell  of  bays  and  nutmegs 
commended  themselves  gratefully  to  our 
senses.  One  way  and  another,  now  the 
die  was  cast.     Silverado  be  it ! 

After  we  had  got  back  to  the  Toll 
House,  the  Jews  were  not  long  of  strik- 
ing forward.  But  I  observed  that  one 
of  the  Hanson  lads  came  down,  before 
their  departure,  and  returned  with  a 
ship's  kettle.  Happy  Hansons!  Nor 
was  it  until  after  Kelmar  was  gone,  if  I 
remember  rightly,  that  Rufe  put  in  an 


io6        The  Silverado  Squatters. 

appearance  to  arrange  the  details  of  our 
installation. 

The  latter  part  of  the  day,  Fanny  and 
I  sat  in  the  veranda  of  the  Toll  House, 
utterly  stunned  by  the  uproar  of  the 
wind  among  the  trees  on  the  other  side 
of  the  valley.  Sometimes,  we  would 
have  it  it  was  like  a  sea,  but  it  was  not 
various  enough  for  that ;  and  again,  we 
thought  it  like  the  roar  of  a  cataract,  but 
it  was  too  changeful  for  the  cataract ; 
and  then  we  would  decide,  speaking  in 
sleepy  voices,  that  it  could  be  compared 
with  nothing  but  itself.  My  mind  was 
entirely  preoccupied  by  the  noise.  I 
hearkened  to  it  by  the  hour,  gapingly 
hearkened,  and  let  my  cigarette  go  out. 
Sometimes  the  wind  would  make  a  sally 
nearer  hand,  and  send  a  shrill,  whistling 


Wiik  the  Children  of  Israel.     107 

crash  among  the  foliage  on  our  side  of 
the  glen ;  and  sometimes  a  back-draught 
would  strike  into  the  elbow  where  we 
sat,  and  cast  the  gravel  and  torn  leaves 
into  our  faces.  But  for  the  most  part, 
this  great,  streaming  gale  passed  un- 
weariedly  by  us  into  Napa  Valley,  not 
two  hundred  yards  away,  visible  by  the 
tossing  boughs,  stunningly  audible,  and 
yet  not  moving  a  hair  upon  our  heads. 
So  it  blew  all  night  long  while  I  was 
writing  up  my  journal,  and  after  we 
were  in  bed,  under  a  cloudless,  starset 
heaven  ;  and  so  it  was  blowing  still  next 
morning  when  we  rose. 

It  was  a  laughable  thought  to  us, 
what  had  become  of  our  cheerful,  wan- 
dering Hebrews.  We  could  not  sup- 
pose   they    had    reached    a   destination. 


io8         The  Silverado  Squatters. 

The  meanest  boy  could  lead  them  miles 
out  of  their  way  to  see  a  gopher-hole. 
Boys,  we  felt  to  be  their  special  danger  ; 
none  others  were  of  that  exact  pitch  of 
cheerful  irrelevancy  to  exercise  a  kin- 
dred sway  upon  their  minds :  but  before 
the  attractions  of  a  boy  their  most  set- 
tled resolutions  would  be  as  wax.  We 
thought  we  could  follow  in  fancy  these 
three  aged  Hebrew  truants  wandering 
in  and  out  on  hill-top  and  in  thicket,  a 
demon  boy  trotting  far  ahead,  their  will- 
o'-the-wisp  conductor  ;  and  at  last  about 
midnight,  the  wind  still  roaring  in  the 
darkness,  we  had  a  vision  of  all  three  on 
their  knees  upon  a  mountain-top  around 
a  glow-worm. 


With  the  Children  of  Israel.     109 


III. 

THE    RETURN. 

Next  morning  we  were  up  by  half-past 
five,  according  to  agreement,  and  it 
was  ten  by  the  clock  before  our  Jew 
boys  returned  to  pick  us  up :  Kelmar, 
Mrs.  Kelmar,  and  Abramina,  all  smil- 
inor  from  ear  to  ear,  and  full  of  tales 
of  the  hospitality  they  had  found  on 
the  other  side.  It  had  not  gone  un- 
rewarded ;  for  I  observed  with  inter- 
est that  the  ship's  kettles,  all  but 
one,  had  been  "  placed."  Three  Lake 
County  families,  at  least,  endowed  for 
life  with  a  ship's  kettle.  Come,  this 
was  no  misspent  Sunday.    The  absence 


1 1  o        The  Silverado  Squatters. 

of  the  kettles  told  its  own  story :  our 
Jews  said  nothing  about  them ;  but, 
on  the  other  hand,  they  said  many 
kind  and  comely  things  about  the 
people  they  had  met.  The  two  women, 
in  particular,  had  been  charmed  out 
of  themselves  by  the  sight  of  a  young 
girl  surrounded  by  her  admirers ;  all 
evening,  it  appeared,  they  had  been 
triumphing  together  in  the  girl's  in- 
nocent successes,  and  to  this  natural 
and  unselfish  joy  they  gave  expression 
in  language  that  was  beautiful  by  its 
simplicity    and   truth. 

Take  them  for  all  in  all,  few  people 

have  done  my   heart  more   good ;  they 

iseemed  so   thoroughly  entitled  to   hap- 

\  biness,   and   to    enjoy   it    in   so   large  a 

ymeasure  and  so  free  from  after-thought; 


With  the  Children  of  Israel.      1 1 1 

almost  they  persuaded  me  to  be  a 
Jew.  There  was,  indeed,  a  chink  of 
money  in  their  talk.  They  particu- 
larly commended  people  who  were 
well  to  do.  "//<?  don't  care  —  ain't 
it?"  was  their  highest  word  of  com- 
mendation to  an  individual  fate ;  and 
here  I  seem  to  grasp  the  root  of  their 
philosophy  —  it  was  to  be  free  from 
care,  to  be  free  to  make  these  Sunday 
wanderings,  that  they  so  eagerly  pur- 
sued after  wealth  ;  and  all  this  careful- 
ness was  to  be  careless.  The  fine,  good 
humor  of  all  three  seemed  to  declare 
they  had  attained  their  end.  Yet  there 
was  the  other  side  to  it ;  and  the  recipi- 
ents of  kettles  perhaps  cared  greatly. 

No   sooner   had   they   returned,  than 
the   scene    of    yesterday   began    again. 


112         The  Silverado  Squatters, 

The  horses  were  not  even  tied  with 
a  straw  rope  this  time  —  it  was  not 
worth  while  ;  and  Kelmar  disappeared 
into  the  bar,  leaving  them  under  a 
tree  on  the  other  side  of  the  road.  I 
had  to  devote  myself.  I  stood  under 
the  shadow  of  that  tree  for,  I  suppose, 
hard  upon  an  hour,  and  had  not  the 
heart  to  be  angry.  Once  some  one 
remembered  me,  and  brought  me  out 
half  a  tumblerful  of  the  playful,  innoc- 
uous American  cocktail.  I  drank  it, 
and  lo  !  veins  of  living  fire  ran  down 
my  leg ;  and  then  a  focus  of  conflag- 
ration remained  seated  in  my  stomach, 
not  unpleasantly,  for  quarter  of  an 
hour.  I  love  these  sweet,  fiery  pangs, 
but  I  will  not  court  them.  The  bulk 
of   the    time    I    spent    in    repeating   as 


With  the  Children  of  Israel.      1 1 3 

much  French  poetry  as  I  could  re- 
member to  the  horses,  who  seemed 
to  enjoy  it  hugely.  And  now  it 
went  — 

"  O  ma  vieille  Font-georges 
Ou  volent  les  rouges-gorges  : " 

and  again,  to  a  more  trampling  meas- 
ure — 

"Et  tout  tremble,  Irun,  Coimbre, 
Santander,  Almodovar, 
Sitot  qu'on  entend  le  timbre 
Des  cymbales  de  Bivar." 

The  redbreasts  and  the  brooks  of 
Europe,  in  that  dry  and  songless  land  ;^ 
brave  old  names  and  wars,  strong 
cities,  cymbals,  and  bright  armor,  in 
that  nook  of  the  mountain,  sacred  only 
to  the  Indian  and  the  bear!  This  is 
still  the  strangest  thing  in  all  man's 
travelling,  that  he  should  carry  about 
with  him  incongruous  memories.    There 


114        1^^^  Silverado  Squatters. 

is  no  foreign  land ;  it  is  the  traveller 
only  that  is  foreign,  and  now  and 
again,  by  a  flash  of  recollection,  lights 
up   the  contrasts  of  the  earth. 

But  while  I  was  thus  wandering  in 
my  fancy,  great  feats  had  been  trans- 
acted in  the  bar.  Corwin  the  bold 
had  fallen,  Kelmar  was  again  crowned 
with  laurels,  and  the  last  of  the  ship's 
kettles  had  changed  hands.  If  I  had 
ever  doubted  the  purity  of  Kelmar's 
motives,  if  I  had  ever  suspected  him 
of  a  single  eye  to  business  in  his  eter- 
nal dally ings,  now  at  least,  when  the 
last  kettle  was  disposed  of,  my  suspi- 
cions must  have  been  allayed.  I  dare 
not  guess  how  much  more  time  was 
wasted ;  nor  how  often  we  drove  off, 
merely    to   drive    back   again    and    re- 


J 


With  the  Childr€7i  of  Israel.      1 1 5 

new  interrupted  conversations  about 
nothing,  before  the  Toll  House  was 
fairly  left  behind.  Alas !  and  not  a 
mile  down  the  grade  there  stands  a 
ranch  in  a  sunny  vineyard,  and  here 
we  must  all  dismount  again  and  enter. 
Only  the  old  lady  was  at  home, 
Mrs.  Guele,  a  brown  old  Swiss  dame, 
the  picture  of  honesty;  and  with  her 
we  drank  a  bottle  of  wine  and  had 
an  age-long  conversation,  which  would 
have  been  highly  delightful  if  Fanny 
and  I  had  not  been  faint  with  hunger. 
The  ladies  each  narrated  the  story  of 
her  marriage,  our  two  Hebrews  with 
the  prettiest  combination  of  sentiment 
and  financial  bathos.  Abramina,  spe- 
cially, endeared  herself  with  ever}'-  word. 
She  was  as  simple,  natural,  and  engag- 


1 1 6  The  Silverado  Sqtiatters. 

ing  as  a  kid  that  should  have  been 
brought  up  to  the  business  of  a  money- 
changer. One  touch  was  so  resplen- 
dently  Hebraic  that  I  cannot  pass  it 
over.  When  her  "  old  man "  wrote 
home  for  her  from  America,  her  old 
man's  family  would  not  intrust  her  with 
the  money  for  the  passage,  till  she  had 
bound  herself  by  an  oath  —  on  her 
knees,  I  think  she  said  —  not  to  em- 
ploy it  otherwise.  This  had  tickled 
Abramina  hugely,  but  I  think  it  tickled 
me  fully  more. 

Mrs.  Guele  told  of  her  home-sickness 
up  here  in  the  long  winters ;  of  her 
honest,  country-woman  troubles  and 
alarms  upon  the  journey ;  how  in  the 
bank  at  Frankfort  she  had  feared  lest 
the    banker,    after    having    taken    her 


With  the  Children  of  Isi^acl.      1 1  7 

cheque,  should  deny  all  knowledge  of  it 
—  a  fear  I  have  myself  every  time  I  go 
to  a  bank ;  and  how  crossing  the  Lune- 
burger  Heath,  an  old  lady,  witnessing 
her  trouble  and  finding  whither  she  was 
bound,  had  given  her  "  the  blessing  of  a 
person  eighty  years  old,  which  would  be 
sure  to  bring  her  safely  to  the  States. 
And  the  first  thing  I  did,"  added  Mrs. 
Guele,  "  was  to  fall  downstairs." 

At  length  we  got  out  of  the  house, 
and  some  of  us  into  the  trap,  when  — 
judgment  of  Heaven!  —  here  came  Mr. 
Guele  from  his  vineyard.  So  another 
quarter  of  an  hour  went  by;  till  at 
length,  at  our  earnest  pleading,  we  set 
forth  again  in  earnest,  Fanny  and  I 
whitefaced  and  silent,  but  the  Jews 
still     smiling.       The     heart     fails     me. 


1 1 8         The  Silverado  Squatters. 

There  was  yet  another  stoppage  !  And 
we  drove  at  last  into  CaHstoga  past 
two  in  the  afternoon,  Fanny  and  I 
havino:  breakfasted  at  six  in  the  morn- 
ing,  eight  mortal  hours  before.  We 
were  a  pallid  couple  ;  but  still  the  Jews 
were  smiling. 

So  ended  our  excursion  with  the 
village  usurers ;  and,  now  that  it  was 
done,  we  had  no  more  idea  of  the 
nature  of  the  business,  nor  of  the  part 
we  had  been  playing  in  it,  than  the 
child  unborn.  That  all  the  people  we 
had  met  were  the  slaves  of  Kelmar, 
though  in  various  degrees  of  servitude ; 
that  we  ourselves  had  been  sent  up  the 
mountain  in  the  interests  of  none  but 
Kelmar ;  that  the  money  we  laid  out, 
dollar    by    dollar,    cent    by   cent,    and 


JVii/i  tJic  Children  of  Israel,     1 1 9 

through  the  hands  of  various  intemedi- 
aries,  should  all  hop  ultimately  into 
Kelmar's  till; — these  were  facts  that 
we  only  grew  to  recognize  in  the 
course  of  time  and  by  the  accumulation 
of  evidence.  At  length  all  doubt  was 
quieted,  when  one  of  the  kettle-holders 
confessed.  Stopping  his  trap  in  the 
moonlight,  a  little  way  out  of  Calistoga, 
he  told  me,  in  so  many  words,  that  he 
dare  not  show  face  there  with  an  empty 
pocket.  "  You  see,  I  don't  mind  if  it 
was  only  five  dollars,  Mr.  Stevens,"  he 
said,  "  but  I  must  give  Mr,  Kelmar 
something''' 

Even  now,  when  the  whole  tyranny  is 
plain  to  me,  I  cannot  find  it  in  my  heart 
to  be  as  angry  as  perhaps  I  should  be 
with    the    Hebrew    tyrant.     The   whole 


I20         The  Silverado  Sqtia tiers. 

game  of  business  is  beggar  my  neigh- 
bor; and  though  perhaps  that  game 
looks  ugher  when  played  at  such  close 
quarters  and  on  so  small  a  scale,  it  is 
none  the  more  intrinsically  inhumane  for 
that.  The  village  usurer  is  not  so  sad  a 
feature  of  humanity  and  human  progress 
as  the  millionnaire  manufacturer,  fatten- 
ing on  the  toil  and  loss  of  thousands, 
and  yet  declaiming  from  the  platform 
against  the  greed  and  dishonesty  of 
landlords.  If  it  were  fair  for  Cobden 
to  bu}'^  up  land  from  owners  whom  he 
thought  unconscious  of  its  proper  value, 
it  was  fair  enough  for  my  Russian  Jew 
to  give  credit  to  his  farmers.  Kelmar, 
if  he  was  unconscious  of  the  beam  in 
his  own  eye,  was  at  least  silent  in  the 
matter  of  his  brother's  mote. 


THE    ACT    OF    SQUATTING. 


THE    ACT   OF   SQUATTING. 


There  were  four  of  us  squatters  —  my- 
self and  my  wife,  the  King  and  Queen 
of  Silverado ;  Sam,  the  Crown  Prince  ; 
and  Chuchu,  the  Grand  Duke.  Chuchu, 
a  setter  crossed  with  spaniel,  was  the 
most  unsuited  for  a  rough  life.  He  had 
been  nurtured  tenderly  in  the  society  of 
ladies  ;  his  heart  was  large  and  soft ;  he 
regarded  the  sofa-cushion  as  a  bed-rock 
necessary  of  existence.  Though  about 
the  size  of  a  sheep,  he  loved  to  sit  in  la- 
dies' laps;  he  never  said  a  bad  word  in 


124         ^'^^  Silverado  Squatters. 

all  his  blameless  days ;  and  if  he  had 
seen  a  flute,  I  am  sure  he  could  have 
played  upon  it  by  nature.  It  may  seem 
hard  to  say  it  of  a  dog,  but  Chuchu  was 
a  tame  cat. 

The  king  and  queen,  the  grand  duke, 
and  a  basket  of  cold  provender  for  im- 
mediate use,  set  forth  from  Calistoga  in 
a  double  buggy;  the  crown  prince,  on 
horseback,  led  the  way  like  an  outrider. 
Bags  and  boxes  and  a  second-hand  stove 
were  to  follow  close  upon  our  heels  by 
Hanson's  team. 

It  was  a  beautiful  still  day;  the  sky 
was  one  fiedd  of  azure.  Not  a  leaf 
moved,  not  a  speck  appeared  in  heaven. 
Only  from  the  summit  of  the  mountain 
one  little  snowy  wisp  of  cloud  after 
another  kept  detaching  itself,  like  smoke 


The  Act  of  Squatting.  125 

from  a  volcano,  and  blowing  southward 
in  some  high  stream  of  air :  Mount 
Saint  Helena  still  at  her  interminable 
task,  making  the  weather,  like  a  Lap- 
land witch. 

B}^  noon  we  had  come  in  sight  of  the 
mill :  a  great  brown  building,  half-way 
up  the  hill,  big  as  a  factory,  two  stories 
high,  and  with  tanks  and  laders  along 
the  roof;  which,  as  a  pendicle  of  Silver- 
ado mine,  we  held  to  be  an  outlying 
province  of  our  own.  Thither,  then,  we 
went,  crossing  the  valley  by  a  grassy 
trail ;  and  there  lunched  out  of  the  bas- 
ket, sitting  in  a  kind  of  portico,  and 
wondering,  while  we  ate,  at  this  great 
bulk  of  useless  building.  Through  a 
chink  we  could  look  far  down  into  the 
interior,  and   see   sunbeams   floating   in 


126         The  Silverado  Squatters. 

the  dust  and  striking  on  tier  after  tier 
of  silent,  rusty  machinery.  It  cost  six 
thousand  dollars,  twelve  hundred  Eng- 
lish sovereigns  ;  and  now,  here  it  stands 
deserted,  like  the  temple  of  a  forgotten 
religion,  the  busy  millers  toiling  some- 
where else.  All  the  time  we  were  there, 
mill  and  mill  town  showed  no  sign  of 
life  ;  that  part  of  the  mountain-side,  which 
is  very  open  and  green,  was  tenanted  by 
no  living  creature  but  ourselves  and  the 
insects ;  and  nothing  stirred  but  the 
cloud  manufactory  upon  the  mountain 
summit.  It  was  odd  to  compare  this 
with  the  former  days,  when  the  engine 
was  in  full  blast,  the  mill  palpitating 
to  its  strokes,  and  the  carts  came 
rattling  down  from  Silverado,  charged 
with    ore. 


The  Act  of  S qua f ting.  iij 

By  two  we  had  been  landed  at  the 
mine,  the  buggy  was  gone  again,  and  we 
were  left  to  our  own  reflections  and  the 
basket  of  cold  provender,  until  Hanson 
should  arrive.  Hot  as  it  was  by  the  sun, 
there  was  something  chill  in  such  a 
home-coming,  in  that  world  of  wreck 
and  rust,  splinter  and  rolling  gravel, 
where  for  so  many  years  no  fire  had 
smoked. 

Silverado  platform  filled  the  whole 
width  of  the  canyon.  Above,  as  I  have 
said,  this  was  a  wild,  red,  stony  gully 
in  the  mountains  ;  but  below  it  was  a 
wooded  dingle.  And  through  this,  I 
was  told,  there  had  gone  a  path  between 
the  mine  and  the  Toll  House  —  our  nat- 
ural north-west  passage  to  civilization. 
I  found  and  followed  it,  clearing  my  way 


128         The  Silverado  Squatters. 

as  I  went  through  fallen  branches  and 
dead  trees.  It  went  straight  down  that 
steep  canyon,  till  it  brought  you  out 
abruptly  over  the  roofs  of  the  hotel. 
There  was  nowhere  any  break  in  the  de- 
scent. It  almost  seemed  as  if,  were  you 
to  drop  a  stone  down  the  old  iron  chute 
at  our  platform,  it  would  never  rest  until 
it  hopped  upon  the  Toll  House  shingles. 
Sio:ns  were  not  wantins^  of  the  ancient 
greatness  of  Silverado.  The  footpath 
was  well  marked,  and  had  been  well 
trodden  in  the  old  days  by  thirsty 
miners.  And  far  down,  buried  in  foli- 
age, deep  out  of  sight  of  Silverado,  I 
came  on  a  last  outpost  of  the  mine  — 
a  mound  of  gravel,  some  wreck  of 
wooden  aqueduct,  and  the  mouth  of  a 
tunnel,  like  a  treasure  grotto  in  a  fairy 


The  Act  of  Squatting.  129 

story.  A  stream  of  water,  fed  by  the  in- 
visible leakage  from  our  shaft,  and  dyed 
red  with  cinnabar  or  iron,  ran  trippingly 
forth  out  of  the  bowels  of  the  cave  ;  and, 
looking  far  under  the  arch,  I  could  see 
something  like  an  iron  lantern  fastened 
on  the  rocky  wall.  It  was  a  promising 
spot  for  the  imagination.  No  boy  could 
have  left  it  unexplored. 

The  stream  thenceforward  stole  along 
the  bottom  of  the  dingle,  and  made,  for 
that  dry  land,  a  pleasant  warbling  in  the 
leaves.  Once,  I  suppose,  it  ran  splash- 
ing down  the  whole  length  of  the  can- 
yon, but  now  its  head  waters  had  been 
tapped  by  the  shaft  at  Silverado,  and  for 
a  great  part  of  its  course  it  wandered 
sunless  among  the  joints  of  the  moun- 
tain. No  wonder  that  it  should  better 
9 


130         The  Silverado  Squatters. 

its  pace  when  it  sees,  far  before  it,  day- 
light whitening  in  the  arch,  or  that  it 
should  come  trotting  forth  into  the  sun- 
light with  a  song. 

The  two  stages  had  gone  by  when  I 
got  down,  and  the  Toll  House  stood, 
dozing  in  sun  and  dust  and  silence,  like 
a  place  enchanted.  My  mission  was  af- 
ter hay  for  bedding,  and  that  I  was 
readily  promised.  But  when  I  men- 
tioned that  we  were  waiting  for  Rufe, 
the  people  shook  their  heads.  Rufe  was 
not  a  regular  man  any  way,  it  seemed; 
and  if  he  got  playing  poker —  Well, 
poker  was  too  many  for  Rufe.  I  had 
not  yet  heard  them  bracketed  together; 
but  it  seemed  a  natural  conjunction,  and 
commended  itself  swiftly  to  my  fears ; 
and  as  soon  as  I  returned  to  Silverado 


The  Act  of  Squatting.  131 

and  had  told  my  story,  we  practically 
gave  Hanson  up,  and  set  ourselves  to 
do  what  we  could  find  do-able  in  our 
desert-island  state. 

The  lower  room  had  been  the  as- 
sayer's  office.  The  floor  was  thick 
with  debris  —  part  human,  from  the 
former  occupants ;  part  natural,  sifted 
in  by  mountain'  winds.  In  a  sea  of 
red  dust  there  swam .  or  floated  sticks, 
boards,  hay,  straw,  stones,  and  paper ; 
ancient  newspapers,  above  all  —  for  the 
newspaper,  especially  when  torn,  soon 
becomes  an  antiquity  —  and  bills  of 
the  Silverado  boarding-house,  some  dat- 
ed Silverado,  some  Calistoga  Mine. 
Here  is  one,  verbatim  ;  and  if  any  one 
can  calculate  the  scale  of  charges, 
they   have    my  envious    admiration. 


132         The  Silverado  Squatters. 

Calistoga  Mine,  May  3d,  1875, 
John  Stanley 

To  S.  Chapman,  O. 

To  board  from  April  1st,  to  April  30     $25     75 

"       "         "        May  ist,  to  3d      .     .         2     00 

$27     75 

Where  is  John  Stanley  mining  now? 
Where  is  S.  Chapman,  within  whose 
hospitable  walls  we  were  to  lodge  ? 
The  date  was  but  five  years  old,  but 
in  that  time  the  world  had  changed 
for  Silverado ;  like  Palmyra  in  the 
desert,  it  had  outlived  its  people  and 
its  purpose ;  we  camped,  like  Layard, 
amid  ruins,  and  these  names  spoke 
to  us  of  pre-historic  time.  A  boot- 
jack, a  pair  of  boots,  a  dog-hutch,  and 
these  bills  of  Mr.  Chapman's  were  the 
only  speaking  relics  that  we  disinterred 
from    all    that   vast    Silverado    rubbish- 


The  Act  of  Squatting,  \       133 


heap ;  but  what  would  I  not  have 
given  to  unearth  a  letter,  a  pocket-book, 
a  diary,  only  a  ledger,  or  a  roll  of 
names,  to  take  me  back,  in  a  more 
personal  manner,  to  the  past  ?  It 
pleases  me,  besides,  to  fancy  that 
Stanley  or  Chapman,  or  one  of  their 
companions,  may  light  upon  this  chron- 
icle, and  be  struck  by  the  name,  and 
read  some  news  of  their  anterior 
home,  coming,  as  it  were,  out  of  a 
subsequent  epoch  of  history  in  that 
quarter    of   the    world. 

As  we  were  tumbling  the  mingled 
rubbish  on  the  floor,  kicking  it  with 
our  feet,  and  groping  for  these  written 
evidences  of  the  past,  Sam,  with  a 
somewhat  whitened  face,  produced  a 
paper   bag.      "  What 's   this  ?  "  said   he. 


134         '^^^  Silverado  Squatters. 

It  contained  a  granulated  powder,  some- 
thing the  color  of  Gregory's  Mixture, 
but  rosier;  and  as  there  were  several 
of  the  bags,  and  each  more  or  less 
broken,  the  powder  was  spread  widely 
on  the  floor.  Had  any  of  us  ever 
seen  giant  powder  ?  No,  nobody  had ; 
and  instantly  there  grew  up  in  my 
mind  a  shadowy  belief,  verging  with 
every  moment  nearer  to  certitude,  that 
I  had  somewhere  heard  somebody 
describe  it  as  just  such  a  powder  as 
the  one  around  us.  I  have  learnt 
since  that  it  is  a  substance  not  unlike 
tallow,  and  is  made  up  in  rolls  for  all 
the   world   like   tallow  candles. 

Fanny,  to  add  to  our  happiness, 
told  us  a  story  of  a  gentleman  who 
had  camped  one    night,   like   ourselves, 


The  Act  of  Squatting.  135 

by  a  deserted  mine.  He  was  a  handy, 
thrifty  fellow,  and  looked  right  and 
left  for  plunder,  but  all  he  could  lay 
his  hands  on  was  a  can  of  oil.  After 
dark  he  had  to  see  to  the  horses  with 
a  lantern ;  and  not  to  miss  an  oppor- 
tunity, filled  up  his  lamp  from  the 
oil  can.  Thus  equippisd,  he  set  forth 
into  the  forest.  A  little  while  after, 
his  friends  heard  a  loud  explosion ; 
the  mountain  echoes  bellowed,  and 
then  all  was  still.  On  examination, 
the  can  proved  to  contain  oil,  with 
the  trifling  addition  of  nitro-glycerine ; 
but  no  research  disclosed  a  trace  of 
either   man    or   lantern. 

It  was  a  pretty  sight,  after  this  anec- 
dote, to  see  us  sweeping  out  the  giant 
powder.     It    seemed    never   to    be   far 


136         The  Silverado  Squatters. 

enough    away.     And,   after  all,   it    was 
some  rock  pounded  for  assay. 

So  much  for  the  lower  room.  We 
scraped  some  of  the  rougher  dirt  off  the 
floor,  and  left  it.  That  was  our  sitting- 
room  and  kitchen,  though  there  was 
nothing  to  sit  upon  but  the  table,  and 
no  provision  for  a  fire  except  a  hole  in 
the  roof  of  the  room  above,  which  had 
once  contained  the  chimney  of  a  stove. 

To  that  upper  room  we  now  pro- 
ceeded. There  were  the  eighteen  bunks 
in  a  double  tier,  nine  on  either  hand, 
where  from  eighteen  to  thirty-six  miners 
had  once  snored  together  all  night  long, 
John  Stanley,  perhaps,  snoring  loudest. 
There  was  the  roof,  with  a  hole  in  it 
through  which  the  sun  now  shot  an  ar- 
row.    There  was  the  floor,  in  much  the 


The  Act  of  Sqiiaitiiig.  137 

same  state  as  the  one  below,  though, 
perhaps,  there  was  more  hay,  and  cer- 
tainly there  was  the  added  ingredient  of 
broken  glass,  the  man  who  stole  the  win- 
dow-frames having  apparently  made  a 
miscarriage  with  this  one.  Without  a 
broom,  without  hay  or  bedding,  we 
could  but  look  about  us  with  a  begin- 
ning of  despair.  The  one  bright  arrow 
of  day,  in  that  gaunt  and  shattered 
barrack,  made  the  rest  look  dirtier  and 
darker,  and  the  sight  drove  us  at  last 
into  the  open. 

Here,  also,  the  handiwork  of  man  lay 
ruined  :  but  the  plants  were  all  alive  and 
thriving  ;  the  view  below  was  fresh  with 
the  colors  of  nature  ;  and  we  had  ex- 
changed a  dim,  human  garret  for  a  cor- 
ner, even  although  it  were  untidy,  of  the 


138         The  Silverado  Squatlers. 

blue  hall  of  heaven.  Not  a  bird,  not 
a  beast,  not  a  reptile.  There  was  no 
noise  in  that  part  of  the  world,  save 
when  we  passed  beside  the  staging,  and 
heard  the  water  musically  falling  in  the 
shaft. 

We  wandered  to  and  fro.  We 
searched  among  that  drift  of  lumber 
—  wood  and  iron,  nails  and  rails,  and 
sleepers  and  the  wheels  of  trucks.  We 
gazed  up  the  cleft  into  the  bosom  of  the 
mountain.  We  sat  by  the  margin  of 
the  dump  and  saw,  far  below  us,  the 
green  tree-tops  standing  still  in  the 
clear  air.  Beautiful  perfumes,  breaths 
of  bay,  resin,  and  nutmeg,  came  to  us 
more  often  '.and  grew  sweeter  and 
sharper  as  the  afternoon  declined.  But 
still  there  was  no  word  of  Hanson. 


The  Act  of  Squatting.  139 

I  set  to  with  pick  and  shovel,  and 
deepened  the  pool  behind  the  shaft,  till 
we  were  sure  of  sufficient  water  for  the 
morning ;  and  by  the  time  I  had  fin- 
ished, the  sun  had  begun  to  go  down 
behind  the  mountain  shoulder,  the  plat- 
form was  plunged  in  quiet  shadow,  and 
a  chill  descended  from  the  sky.  Night 
began  early  in  our  cleft.  Before  us, 
over  the  margin  of  the  dump,  we  could 
'see  the  sun  still  striking  aslant  into  the 
wooded  nick  below,  and  on  the  battle- 
mented,  pine-bescattered  ridges  on  the 
further  side. 

There  was  no  stove,  of  course,  and  no 
hearth  in  our  lodging,  so  we  betook  our- 
selves to  the  blacksmith's  forge  across 
the  platform.  If  the  platform  be  taken 
as  a  stage,  and  the  out-curving  margin 


1 40         The .  Silverado  Squatters. 

of  the  dump  to  represent  the  line  of  the 
foot-lights,  then  our  house  would  be  the 
first  wing  on  the  actor's  left,  and  this 
blacksmith's  forge,  although  no  match 
for  it  in  size,  the  foremost  on  the  right. 
It  was  a  low,  brown  cottage,  planted 
close  against  the  hill,  and  overhung  by 
the  foliage  and  peeling  boughs  of  a  ma- 
drona  thicket.  Within  it  was  full  of 
dead  leaves  and  mountain  dust,  and  rub- 
bish from  the  mine.  But  we  soon  had 
a  good  fire  brightly  blazing,  and  sat 
close  about  it  on  impromptu  seats. 
Chuchu,  the  slave  of  sofa-cushions, 
whimpered  for  a  softer  bed ;  but  the 
rest  of  us  were  greatly  revived  and  com- 
forted by  that  good  creature  —  fire, 
which  gives  us  warmth  and  light  and 
companionable    sounds,   and    colors    up 


The  Act  of  Squatting,  141 

the  emptiest  building  with  better  than 
frescos.  For  a  while  it  was  even  pleas- 
ant in  the  forge,  with  the  blaze  in  the 
midst,  and  a  look  over  our  shoulders  on 
the  woods  and  mountains  where  the 
day  was  dying  like  a  dolphin. 

It  was  between  seven  and  eight 
before  Hanson  arrived,  with  a  wagon- 
ful  of  our  effects  and  two  of  his  wife's 
relatives  to  lend  him  a  hand.  The 
elder  showed  surprising  strength.  He 
would  pick  up  a  huge  packing-case, 
full  of  books  of  all  things,  swing  it 
on  his  shoulder,  and  away  up  the 
two  crazy  ladders  and  the  break-neck 
spout  of  rolling  mineral,  familiarly 
termed  a  path,  that  led  from  the  car- 
track  to  our  house.  Even  for  a  man 
unburthened,  the    ascent   was    toilsome 


142         TJie  Silverado  Squatters. 

and  precarious ;  but  Irvine  scaled  it 
,  with  a  light  foot,  carrying  box  after 
box,  as  the  hero  whisks  the  stage  child 
up  the  practicable  footway  beside  the 
waterfall  of  the  fifth  act.  With  so 
strong  a  helper,  the  business  was 
speedily  transacted.  Soon  the  assay- 
er's  office  was  thronged  with  our  be- 
longings, piled  higgledy-piggledy,  and 
upside  down,  about  the  floor.  There 
were  our  boxes,  indeed,  but  my  wife 
had  left  her  keys  in  Calistoga.  There 
was  the  stove,  but  alas !  our  carriers 
had  forgot  the  chimney,  and  lost  one 
of  the  plates  along  the  road.  The 
Silverado   problem   was  scarce  solved. 

Rufe  himself  was  grave  and  good- 
natured  over  his  share  of  blame ;  he 
even,    if    I    remember    right,    expressed 


The  Act  of  Squatting.  143 

regret.  But  his  crew,  to  my  astonish- 
ment and  anger,  grinned  from  ear  to 
ear,  and  laughed  aloud  at  our  distress. 
They  thought  it  "  real  funny "  about 
the  stove-pipe  they  had  forgotten; 
"  real  funny "  that  they  should  have 
lost  a  plate.  As  for  hay,  the  whole 
party  refused  to  bring  us  any  till 
they  should  have  supped.  See  how 
late  they  were !  Never  had  there 
been  such  a  job  as  coming  up  that 
grade !  Nor  often,  I  suspect,  such  a 
game  of  poker  as  that  before  they 
started.  But  about  nine,  as  a  particu- 
lar favor,   we   should    have   some   hay. 

So  they  took  their  departure,  leaving 
me  still  staring,  and  we  resigned  our- 
selves to  wait  for  their  return.  The 
fire    in   the    forge    had    been    suffered 


144         '^^^  Silverado  Squatters. 

to  go  out,  and  we  were  one  and  all 
too  weary  to  kindle  another.  We 
dined,  or,  not  to  take  that  word  in 
vain,  we  ate  after  a  fashion,  in  the 
nightmare  disorder  of  the  assayer's  of- 
fice, perched  among  boxes.  A  single 
candle  lighted  us.  It  could  scarce 
be  called  a  house-warming;  for  there 
was,  of  course,  no  fire,  and  with  the 
two  open  doors  and  the  open  win- 
dow gaping  on  the  night,  like  breaches 
in  a  fortress,  it  began  to  grow  rapidly 
chill.  Talk  ceased  ;  nobody  moved  but 
the  unhappy  Chuchu,  still  in  quest  of 
sofa-cushions,  who  tumbled  complain- 
ingly  among  the  trunks.  It  required 
a  certain  happiness  of  disposition  to 
look  forward  hopefully,  from  so  dismal 
a    beginning,    across    the    brief    hours 


The  Act  of  Squatting.  145 

of  night,  to  the  warm  shining  of 
to-morrow's    sun. 

But  the  hay  arrived  at  last,  and  we 
turned,  with  our  last  spark  of  courage, 
to  the  bedroom.  We  had  improved 
the  entrance,  but  it  was  still  a  kind  of 
rope-walking;  and  it  would  have  been 
droll  to  see  us  mounting,  one  after 
another,  by  candle-light,  under  the 
open   stars. 

The  western  door  —  that  which 
looked  up  the  canyon,  and  through 
which  we  entered  by  our  bridge  of 
flying  plank  —  was  still  entire,  a  hand- 
some, panelled  door,  the  most  finished 
piece  of  carpentry  in  Silverado.  And 
the  two  lowest  bunks  next  to  this  we 
roughly  filled  with  hay  for  that  night's 
use.    Through  the  opposite,  or  eastern- 


146         The  Silverado  Squatters. 

looking  gable,  with  its  open  door  and 
window,  a  faint,  diffused  starshine 
came  into  the  room  like  mist ;  and 
when  we  were  once  in  bed,  we  lay, 
awaiting  sleep,  in  a  haunted,  incom- 
plete obscurity.  At  first  the  silence 
of  the  night  was  utter.  Then  a  high 
wind  began  in  the  distance  among 
the  tree-tops,  and  for  hours  continued 
to  grow  higher.  It  seemed  to  me 
much  such  a  wind  as  we  had  found 
on  our  visit ;  yet  here  in  our  open 
chamber  we  were  fanned  only  by  gen- 
tle and  refreshing  draughts,  so  deep 
was  the  canyon,  so  close  our  house 
was  planted  under  the  overhanging 
rock. 


THE    HUNTER'S    FAMILY. 


THE    HUNTER'S    FAMILY. 


There  is  quite  a  large  race  or  class 
of  people  in  America,  for  whom  we 
scarcely  seem  to  have  a  parallel  in 
England.  Of  pure  white  blood,  they 
are  unknown  or  unrecognizable  in 
towns ;  inhabit  the  fringe  of  settlements 
and  the  deep,  quiet  places  of  the  coun- 
try ;  rebellious  to  all  labor,  and  pettily 
thievish,  like  the  English  gypsies;  rus- 
tically ignorant,  but  with  a  touch  of 
wood  lore  and  the  dexterity  of  the 
savage.     Where   they   came   from    is   a 


150         The  Silverado  Squatters, 

moot  point.  At  the  time  of  the  war, 
they  poured  north  in  crowds  to  escape 
the  conscription  ;  hved  during  summer 
on  fruits,  wild  animals,  and  petty  theft; 
and  at  the  approach  of  winter,  when 
these  supplies  failed,  built  great  fires 
in  the  forest,  and  there  died  stoically 
by  starvation.  They  are  widely  scat- 
tered, however,  and  easily  recognized. 
Loutish,  but  not  ill-looking,  they  will 
sit  all  day,  swinging  their  legs  on  a 
field  fence,  the  mind  seemingly  as  de- 
void of  all  reflection  as  a  Suffolk  peas- 
ant's, careless  of  politics,  for  the  most 
part  incapable  of  reading,  but  with  a  re- 
bellious vanity  and  a  strong  sense  of 
independence.  Hunting  is  their  most 
congenial  business,  or,  if  the  occasion 
offers,   a   little    amateur   detection.      In 


The  Hunter  s  Family.  1 5 1 

tracking  a  criminal,  following  a  partic- 
ular horse  along  a  beaten  highway, 
and  drawing  inductions  from  a  hair  or 
a  footprint,  one  of  those  somnolent, 
grinning  Hodges  will  suddenly  dis- 
play activity  of  body  and  finesse  of 
mind.  By  their  names  ye  may  know 
them,  the  women  figuring  as  Loveina, 
Larsena,  Serena,  Leanna,  Orreana; 
the  men  answerino^  to  Alvin,  Alva,  or 
Orion,  pronounced  Orrion,  with  the 
accent  on  the  first.  Whether  they  are 
indeed  a  race,  or  whether  this  is  the 
form  of  degeneracy  common  to  all 
backwoodsmen,  they  are  at  least  known 
by  a  generic  byword,  as  Poor  Whites 
or  Low-downers. 

I  will  not  say  that  the   Hanson  fam- 
ily was   Poor  White,  because  the  name 


152  The  Silverado  Squatters. 

savors  of  offence ;  but  I  may  go  as  far 
as  this  —  they  were,  in  many  points,  not 
unsimilar  to  the  people  usually  so  called. 
Rufe  himself  combined  two  of  the 
qualifications,  for  he  was  both  a  hun- 
ter and  an  amateur  detective.  It  was 
he  who  pursued  Russel  and  Dollar,  the 
robbers  of  the  Lake  Port  stage,  and 
captured  them  the  very  morning  after 
the  exploit,  while  they  were  still  sleep- 
ing in  a  hay-field.  Russel,  a  drunken 
Scotch  carpenter,  was  even  an  acquain- 
tance of  his  own,  and  he  expressed 
much  grave  commiseration  for  his  fate. 
In  all  that  he  said  and  did,  Rufe  was 
grave.  I  never  saw  him  hurried. 
\\[hen  he  spoke,  he  took  out  his  pipe 
th  ceremonial  deliberation,  looked 
east  and  west,  and  then,  in  quiet  tones 


'^^ 


The  Hunters  Family  1  153 

and  few  words,  stated  his  business  or 
told  his  story.  His  gait  was  to  match ; 
it  would  never  have  surprised  you  if, 
at  any  step,  he  had  turned  round  and 
walked  away  again,  so  warily  and 
slowly,  and  with  so  much  seeming  hesi- 
tation did  he  go  about.  He  lay  long 
in  bed  in  the  morning  —  rarely,  indeed, 
rose  before  noon ;  he  loved  all  games, 
from  poker  to  clerical  croquet ;  and  in 
the  Toll  House  croquet  ground  I  have 
seen  him  toiling  at  the  latter  with  the 
devotion  of  a  curate.  He  took  an 
interest  in  education,  was  an  active 
member  of  the  local  school-board,  and 
when  I  was  there,  he  had  recently  lost 
the  school-house  key.  His  wagon  was 
broken,  but  it  never  seemed  to  occur 
to  him  to  mend  it.     Like  all  truly  idle 


1 54         The  Silverado  Squatters. 

people,  he  had  an  artistic  eye.  He 
chose  the  print  stuff  for  his  wife's 
dresses,  and  counselled  her  in  the 
making  of  a  patchwork  quilt,  always, 
as  she  thought,  wrongly,  but  to  the 
more  educated  eye,  always  with  bizarre 
and  admirable  taste  —  the  taste  of  an 
Indian.  With  all  this,  he  was  a  per- 
fect, unoffending  gentleman  in  word 
and  act.  Take  his  clay  pipe  from  him, 
and  he  was  fit  for  any  society  but  that 
of  fools.  Quiet  as  he  was,  there  burned 
a  deep,  permanent  excitement  in  his 
dark  blue  eyes ;  and  when  this  grave 
man  smiled,  it  was  like  sunshine  in  a 
shady  place. 

Mrs.  Hanson  {nee,  if  you  please.  Love- 
lands)  was  more  commonplace  than  her 
lord.     She   was   a  comely  woman,  too. 


The  Hunters  Family.  i55 

plump,  fair-colored,  with  wonderful  white 
teeth  ;  and  in  her  print  dresses  (chosen 
by  Rufe)  and  with  a  large  sun-bonnet 
shading  her  valued  complexion,  made,  I 
assure  you,  a  very  agreeable  figure.  But 
she  was  on  the  surface,  what  there  was 
of  her,  out-spoken  and  loud-spoken. 
Her  noisy  laughter  had  none  of  the 
charm  of  one  of  Hanson's  rare,  slow- 
spreading  smiles ;  there  was  no  reti- 
cence, no  mystery,  no  manner  about  the 
woman  :  she  was  a  first-class  dairymaid, 
but  her  husband  was  an  unknown  quan- 
tity between  the  savage  and  the  noble- 
man. She  was  often  in  and  out  with 
us,  merry,  and  healthy,  and  fair ;  he 
came  far  seldomer  —  only,  indeed,  when 
there  was  business,  or  now  and  again, 
to  pay  a  visit  of  ceremony,  brushed  up 


156         The  Silverado  Squatters. 

for  the  occasion,  with  his  wife  on  his 
arm,  and  a  clean  clay  pipe  in  his  teeth. 
These  visits,  in  our  forest  state,  had 
quite  the  air  of  an  event,  and  turned 
our  red  canyon  into  a  salon. 

Such  was  the  pair  who  ruled  in  the 
old  Silverado  Hotel,  among  the  windy 
trees,  on  the  mountain  shoulder  over- 
looking the  whole  length  of  Napa  Val- 
ley, as  the  man  aloft  looks  down  on  the 
ship's  deck.  There  they  kept  house, 
with  sundry  horses  and  fowls,  and  a 
family  of  sons,  Daniel  Webster,  and  I 
think  George  Washington,  among  the 
number.  Nor  did  they  want  visitors. 
An  old  gentleman,  of  singular  stolidity, 
and  called  Breedlove  —  I  think  he  had 
crossed  the  plains  in  the  same  caravan 
with     Rufe  —  housed    with     them    for 


The  Hunters  Family.  157 

awhile  during  our  stay ;  and  they  had 
besides  a  permanent  lodger,  in  the  form 
of  Mrs.  Hanson's  brother,  Irvine  Love- 
lands.  I  spell  Irvine  by  guess  ;  for  I 
could  get  no  information  on  the  subject, 
just  as  I  could  never  find  out,  in  spite  of 
many  inquiries,  whether  or  not  Rufe  was 
a  contraction  for  Rufus.  They  were 
all  cheerfully  at  sea  about  their  names 
in  that  generation  ;  and  this  is  surely 
the  more  notable  where  the  names  are 
all  so  strange,  and  even  the  family 
names  appear  to  be  made  up.  At  one 
time,  at  least,  the  ancestors  of  all  these 
Alvins  and  Alvas,  Loveinas,  Lovelands, 
and  Breedloves,  must  have  taken  seri- 
ous council  and  found  a  certain  poetry 
in  these  denominations  ;  that  must  have 
been,  then,  their  form  of  literature.     But 


158         The  Silverado  Squatters. 

still  times  change ;  and  their  next  de- 
scendants, the  George  Washingtons  and 
Daniel  Websters,  will  at  least  be  clear 
upon  the  point.  And  anyway,  and 
however  his  name  should  be  spelt,  this 
Irvine  Lovelands  was  the  most  unmiti- 
gated Caliban  I  ever  knew. 

Our  very  first  morning  at  Silverado, 
when  we  were  full  of  business,  patching 
up  doors  and  windows,  making  beds  and 
seats,  and  getting  our  rough  lodging 
into  shape,  Irvine  and  his  sister  made 
their  appearance  together,  she  for  neigh- 
borliness  and  general  curiosity ;  he,  be- 
cause he  was  working  for  me,  to  my  sor- 
row, cutting  firewood  at  I  forget  how 
much  a  day.  The  way  that  he  set  about 
cutting  wood  was  characteristic.  We 
were  at  that  moment  patching  up  and 


The  Hunters  Family.  159 

unpacking  in  the  kitchen.  Down  he 
sat  on  one  side,  and  down  sat  his  sister 
on  the  other.  Both  were  chewing  pine- 
tree  gum,  and  he,  to  my  annoyance, 
accompanied  that  simple  pleasure  with 
profuse  expectoration.  She  rattled  away, 
talking  up  hill  and  down  dale,  laughing, 
tossing  her  head,  showing  her  brilliant 
teeth.  He  looked  on  in  silence,  now 
spitting  heavily  on  the  floor,  now  put- 
ting his  head  back  and  uttering  a  loud, 
discordant,  joyless  laugh.  He  had  a 
tangle  of  shock  hair,  the  color  of  wool ; 
his  mouth  was  a  grin ;  although  as 
strong  as  a  horse,  he  looked  neither 
heavy  nor  yet  adroit,  only  leggy,  coltish, 
and  in  the  road.  But  it  was  plain  he 
was  in  high  spirits,  thoroughly  enjoying 
his  visit,  and  he  laughed  frankly  when- 


i6o         The  Silverado  Squatters, 

ever  we  failed  to  accomplish  what  we 
were  aboui.  This  was  scarcely  helpful : 
it  was  even,  to  amaieur  carpenters, 
embarrassing ;  but,  it  lasted  until  we 
knocked  off  work  and  began  to  get  din- 
ner. Then  Mrs.  Hanson  remembered 
she  should  have  been  gone  an  hour  ago; 
and  the  pair  retired,  and  the  lady's 
laughter  died  away  among  the  nutmegs 
down  the  path.  That  was  Irvine's  first 
day's  work  in  my  employment  —  the 
devil  take  him ! 

The  next  morning  he  returned  and, 
as  he  was  this  time  alone,  he  bestowed 
his  conversation  upon  us  with  great  lib- 
erality. He  prided  himself  on  his  intel- 
ligence ;  asked  us  if  we  knew  the  school 
ma'am.  He  did  n't  think  much  of  her, 
anyway.     He    had    tried    her,    he    had. 


The  Hunters  Family.  i6i 

He  had  put  a  question  to  her.  If  a  tree 
a  hundred  feet  high  were  to  fall  a  foot  a 
day,  how  long  would  it  take  to  fall  right 
down  ?  She  had  not  been  able  to  solve 
the  problem.  "She  don't  know  noth- 
ing," he  opined.  He  told  us  how  a 
friend  of  his  kept  a  school  with  a  revol- 
ver, and  chuckled  mightily  over  that ; 
his  friend  could  teach  school,  he  could. 
All  the  time  he  kept  chewing  gum  and 
spitting.  He  would  stand  a  while  look- 
ing down ;  and  then  he  would  toss  back 
his  shock  of  hair,  and  laugh  hoarsely, 
and  spit,  and  bring  forward  a  new  sub- 
ject. A  man,  he  told  us,  who  bore  a 
grudge  against  him,  had  poisoned  his 
dog.  "  That  was  a  low  thing  for  a  man 
to  do  now,  wasn't  it?  It  wasn't  like  a 
man,  that,  nohow.     But  I  G^ot  even  with 


1 62         The  Silverado  Squatters. 

him :    I  pisoned  his  dog."     His  clumsy 
utterance,  his  rude  embarrassed  manner, 
set  a  fresh  value  on  the  stupidity  of  his 
remarks.     I  do  not  think  I  ever  appre- 
ciated the  meaning  of  two  words  until  I 
knew  Irvine  —  the   verb,   loaf,  and   the 
noun,   oaf;    between   them,   they   com- 
plete his  portrait.    He  could  lounge,  and 
wriggle,    and    rub    himself    against    the 
wall,  and  grin,  and  be  more   in  every- 
body's way  than  any  other  two  people 
that   I  ever  set   my  eyes  on.     Nothing 
that  he  did  became  him  ;  and  yet  you 
were  conscious  that  he  was  one  of  your 
own  race,  that  his  mind  was  cumbrously 
at  work,  revolving  the  problem  of  exist- 
ence like  a  quid  of  gum,  and  in  his  own 
cloudy  manner  enjoying  life,  and  pass- 
ing judgment  on  his  fellows.     Above  all 


The  Hunters  Family.  163 

things,  he  was  delighted  with  himself. 
You  would  not  have  thought  it,  from  his 
uneasy  manners  and  troubled,  struggling 
utterance ;  but  he  loved  himself  to  the 
marrow,  and  was  happy  and  proud  like  a 
peacock  on  a  rail. 

His  self-esteem  was,  indeed,  the  one 
joint  in  his  harness.  He  could  be 
got  to  work,  and  even  kept  at  work, 
by  flattery.  As  long  as  my  wife  stood 
over  him,  crying  out  how  strong  he 
was,  so  long  exactly  he  would  stick 
to  the  matter  in  hand;  and  the  mo- 
ment she  turned  her  back,  or  ceased  to 
praise  him,  he  would  stop.  His  phys- 
ical strength  was  wonderful ;  and  to 
have  a  woman  stand  by  and  admire 
his  achievements,  warmed  his  heart 
like  sunshine.     Yet  he  was  as  cowardly 


164         The  Silverado  Squatters, 

as  he  was  powerful,  and  felt  no  shame 
in  owning  to  the  weakness.  Some- 
thing was  once  wanted  from  the  crazy 
platform  over  the  shaft,  and  he  at  once 
refused  to  venture  there  —  "did  not 
like,"  as  he  said,  "foolen'  round  them 
kind  o'  places,"  and  let  my  wife  go 
instead  of  him,  looking  on  with  a  grin. 
Vanity,  where  it  rules,  is  usually  more 
heroic :  but  Irvine  steadily  approved 
himself,  and  expected  others  to  approve 
him ;  rather  looked  down  upon  my 
wife,  and  decidedly  expected  her  to 
look  up  to  him,  on  the  strength  of 
his    superior   prudence. 

Yet  the  strangest''  part  of  the  whole 
matter  was  perhaps  this,  that  Irvine 
was  as  beautiful  as  a  statue.  His 
features    were,    in    themselves,    perfect; 


The  Hunters  Family,  165 

it  was  only  his  cloudy,  uncouth,  and 
coarse  expression  that  disfigured  them. 
So  much  strength  residing  in  so  spare 
a  frame  was  proof  sufficient  of  the 
accuracy  of  his  shape.  He  must  have 
been  built  somewhat  after  the  pattern 
of  Jack  Sheppard ;  but  the  famous 
housebreaker,  we  may  be  certain,  was 
no  lout.  It  was  by  the  extraordinary 
powers  of  his  mind  no  less  than  by 
the  vigor  of  his  body,  that  he  broke 
his  strong  prison  with  such  imperfect 
implements,  turning  the  very  obstacles 
to  service.  Irvine,  in  the  same  case, 
would  have  sat  down  and  spat,  and 
grumbled  curses.  -^  He  had  the  soul 
of  a  fat  sheep,  but,  regarded  as  an 
artist's  model,  the  exterior  of  a  Greek 
God.     It  was   a  cruel   thought  to  per 


1 66         The  Silverado  Squatters. 

sons  less  favored  in  their  birth,  that 
this  creature,  endowed  —  to  use  the 
language  of  theatres  —  with  extraor- 
dinary "  means,"  should  so  manage  to 
misemploy  them  that  he  looked  ugly 
and  almost  deformed.  It  was  only 
by  an  effort  of  abstraction,  and  after 
many  days,  that  you  discovered  what 
he  was. 

By  playing  on  the  oaf's  conceit,  and 
standing  closely  over  him,  we  got  a 
path  made  round  the  corner  of  the 
dump  to  our  door,  so  that  we  could 
come  and  go  with  decent  ease ;  and 
he  even  enjoyed  the  work,  for  in  that 
there  were  bowlders  to  be  plucked  up 
bodily,  bushes  to  be  uprooted,  and 
other  occasions  for  athletic  display: 
but  cutting  wood  was  a  different  mat- 


The  Hunters  Family.  167 

ter.  Anybody  could  cut  wood;  and, 
besides,  my  wife  was  tired  of  super- 
vising him,  and  had  other  things  to 
attend  to.  And,  in  short,  days  went 
by,  and  Irvine  came  daily,  and  talked 
and  lounged  and  spat ;  but  the  fire- 
wood remained  intact  as  sleepers  on 
the  platform  or  growing  trees  upon 
the  mountain-side.  Irvine,  as  a  wood- 
cutter, we  could  tolerate ;  but  Irvine 
as  a  friend  of  the  family,  at  so  much 
a  day,  was  too  bald  an  imposition, 
and  at  length,  in  the  afternoon  of  the 
fourth  or  fifth  day  of  our  connection, 
I  explained  to  him,  as  clearly  as  I 
could,  the  light  in  which  I  had  grown 
to  regard  his  presence.  I  pointed  out 
to  him  that  I  could  not  continue  to 
give   him   a   salary  for    spitting  on   the 


1 68         The  Silverado  Squatters- 

floor;  and  this  expression,  which  came 
after  a  good  many  others,  at  last  pen- 
etrated his  obdurate  wits.  He  rose 
at  once,  and  said  if  that  was  the  way- 
he  was  going  to  be  spoken  to,  he 
reckoned  he  would  quit.  And,  no  one 
interposing,    he   departed. 

So  far,  so  good.  But  we  had 
no  firewood.  The  next  afternoon,  I 
strolled  down  to  Rufe's  and  consulted 
him  on  the  subject.  It  was  a  very 
droll  interview,  in  the  large,  bare 
north  room  of  the  Silverado  Hotel, 
Mrs.  Hanson's  patchwork  on  a  frame, 
and  Rufe,  and  his  wife,  and  I,  and 
the  oaf  himself,  all  more  or  less  em- 
barrassed. Rufe  announced  there  was 
nobody  in  the  neighborhood  but  Irvine 
who   could    do   a   day's    work   for   any- 


The  Hunters  Family.  169 

body.      Irvine,    thereupon,    refused    to 
have  any  more  to  do  with  my  service ; 
he  "  would  n't  work  no  more  for  a  man 
as  had  spoke   to    him  's   I  had   done." 
I    found    myself    on    the    point    of    the 
last    humiliation  —  driven    to     beseech 
the  creature  whom  I  had  just  dismissed 
with  insult:  but   I  took  the  high  hand 
in  despair,  said  there  must  be  no  talk 
of   Irvine   coming  back   unless  matters 
were    to   be  differently   managed  ;   that 
I   would  rather  chop   firewood  for   my- 
self than  be  fooled  ;  and,  in  short,  the 
Hansons     being     eager    for    the    lad's 
hire,    I    so    imposed    upon    them    with 
merely    affected    resolution,    that    they 
ended  by  begging  me  to  re-employ  him, 
on   a   solemn    promise   that    he   should 
be  more  industrious.     The  promise,    I 


1 70         The  Silverado  Squatters. 

am  bound  to  say,  was  kept.  We  soon 
had  a  fine  pile  of  firewood  at  our 
door ;  and  if  Caliban  gave  me  the  cold 
shoulder  and  spared  me  his  conversa- 
tion, I  thought  none  the  worse  of  him 
for  that,  nor  did  I  find  my  days  much 
longer   for   the    deprivation. 

The  leading  spirit  of  the  family  was, 
I  am  inclined  to  fancy,  Mrs.  Hanson. 
Her  social  brilliancy  somewhat  dazzled 
the  others,  and  she  had  more  of  the 
small  change  of  sense.  It  was  she 
who  faced  Kelmar,  for  instance ;  and 
perhaps,  if  she  had  been  alone,  Kelmar 
would  have  had  no  rule  within  her 
doors.  Rufe,  to  be  sure,  had  a  fine, 
sober,  open-air  attitude  of  mind,  seeing 
the  world  without  exaggeration  —  per- 
haps, we  may  even  say,  without  enough  ; 


The  Hunters  Family.  171 

for  he  lacked,  along  with  the  others, 
that  commercial  idealism  which  puts 
so  high  a  value  on  time  and  money. 
Sanity  itself  is  a  kind  of  convention. 
Perhaps  Rufe  was  wrong;  but,  looking 
on  life  plainly,  he  was  unable  to  per- 
ceive that  croquet  or  poker  were  in 
any  way  less  important  than,  for  in- 
stance, mending  his  wagon.  Even  his 
own  profession,  hunting,  was  dear  to 
him  mainly  as  a  sort  of  play ;  even 
that  he  would  have  neglected,  had  it 
not  appealed  to  his  imagination.  His 
hunting-suit,  for  instance,  had  cost  I 
should  be  afraid  to  say  how  many 
bucks- — the  currency  in  which  he 
paid  his  way:  it  was  all  befringed, 
after  the  Indian  fashion,  and  it  was 
dear  to  his   heart.     The    pictorial   side 


172         The  Silverado  Squatters. 

of  his  daily  business  was  never  forgot- 
ten. He  was  even  anxious  to  stand 
for  his  picture  in  those  buckskin  hunt- 
ing clothes;  and  I  remember  how  Hie 
once  warmed  almost  into  enthusiasm, 
his  dark  blue  eyes  growing  perceptibly 
larger,  as  he  planned  the  composition 
in  which  he  should  appear,  "  with  the 
horns  of  some  real  big  bucks,  and  dogs, 
and  a  camp  on  a  crick  "  (creek,  stream). 

There  was  no  trace  in  Irvine  of  this 
woodland  poetry.  He  did  not  care  for 
hunting,  nor  yet  for  buckskin  suits. 
He  had  never  observed  scenery.  The 
world,  as  it  appeared  to  him,  was  almost 
obliterated  by  his  own  great  grinning 
figure  in  the  foreground :  Caliban  Mal- 
volio.  And  it  seems  to  me  as  if,  in  the 
persons  of  these  brothers-in-law,  we  had 


Tlie  Huniers  Family.  1 73 

the  two  sides  of  rusticity  fairly  well 
represented:  the  hunter  living  really  in 
nature ;  the  clodhopper  living  merely 
out  of  society :  the  one  bent  up  in  every 
corporal  agent  to  capacity  in  one  pur- 
suit, doing  at  least  one  thing  keenly 
and  thoughtfully,  and  thoroughly  alive 
to  all  that  touches  it.*  the  other  in  the 
inert  and  bestial  state,  walking  in  a 
faint  dream,  and  taking  so  dim  an  im- 
pression of  the  myriad  sides  of  life  that 
he  is  truly  conscious  of  nothing  but 
himself.  It  is  only  in  the  fastnesses  of 
nature,  forests,  mountains,  and  the  back 
of  man's  beyond,  that  a  creature  en- 
dowed with  five  senses  can  grow  up 
into  the  perfection  of  this  crass  and 
earthy  vanity.  In  towns  or  the  busier 
country  sides,  he   is  roughly  reminded 


174         ^-^^  Silverado  Squatters. 

of  other  men's  existence ;  and  if  he 
learns  no  more,  he  learns  at  least  to 
fear  contempt.  But  Irvine  had  come 
scatheless  through  life,  conscious  only 
of  himself,  of  his  great  strength  and 
intelligence;  and  in  the  silence  of  the 
universe,  to  which  he  did  not  listen, 
dwelling  with  delight  on  the  sound  of 
his  own  thoughts. 


THE    SEA    FOGS. 


THE   SEA   FOGS. 


A  CHANGE  in  the  color  of  the  light 
usually  called  me  in  the  morning.  By 
a  certain  hour,  the  long,  vertical  chinks 
in  our  western  gable,  where  the  boards 
had  shrunk  and  separated,  flashed  sud- 
denly into  my  eyes  as  stripes  of  dazzling 
blue,  at  once  so  dark  and  splendid  that 
I  used  to  marvel  how  the  qualities  could 
be  combined.  At  an  earlier  hour,  the 
heavens  in  that  quarter  were  still  quietly 
colored,  but  the  shoulder  of  the  moun- 
tain which  shuts  in  the  canyon  already 


178         The  Silverado  Squatters. 

glowed  with  sunlight  in  a  wonderful 
compound  of  gold  and  rose  and  green  ; 
and  this  too  would  kindle,  although 
more  mildly  and  with  rainbow  tints,  the 
fissures  of  our  crazy  gable.  If  I  were 
sleeping  heavily,  it  was  the  bold  blue 
that  struck  me  awake;  if  more  lightly, 
then  I  would  come  to  myself  in  that 
earlier  and  fairer  light. 

One  Sunday  morning,  about  five,  the 
first  brightness  called  me.  I  rose  and 
turned  to  the  east,  not  for  my  devoticius, 
but  for  air.  The  night  had  been  very 
still.  The  little  private  gale  that  blew 
every  evening  in  our  canyon,  for  ten 
minutes  or  perhaps  a  quarter  of  an  hour, 
had  swiftly  blown  itself  out ;  in  the 
hours  that  followed  not  a  sign  of  wind 
had  shaken  the  tree-tops ;  and  our  bar- 


The  Sea  Fogs.  i  79 

rack,  for  all  its  breaches,  was  less  fresh 
that  morning  than  of  wont.  But  I  had 
no  sooner  reached  the  window  than  I 
forgot  all  else  in  the  sight  that  met  my 
eyes,  and  I  made  but  two  bounds  into 
my  clothes,  and  down  the  crazy  plank 
to  the  platform. 

The  sun  was  still  concealed  below  the 
opposite  hill-tops,  though  it  was  shining 
already,  not  twenty  feet  above  my  head, 
on  our  own  mountain  slope.  But  the 
scene,  beyond  a  few  near  features,  was 
entirely  changed.  Napa  valley  was 
gone ;  gone  were  all  the  lower  slopes 
and  woody  foot-hills  of  the  range ;  and 
in  their  place,  not  a  thousand  feet  below 
me,  rolled  a  great  level  ocean.  It  was 
as  though  I  had  o"one  to  bed  the  nic^ht 
before,  safe  in  a  nook  of  inland  nioun- 


i8o         The  Silverado  Squatters. 

tains,  and  had  awakened  in  a  bay  upon 
the  coast.  I  had  seen  these  inundations 
from  below;  at  Calistoga  I  had  risen 
and  gone  abroad  in  the  early  morning, 
coughing  and  sneezing,  under  fathoms 
on  fathoms  of  gray  sea  vapor,  like  a 
cloudy  sky  —  a  dull  sight  for  the  artist, 
and  a  painful  experience  for  the  invalid. 
But  to  sit  aloft  one's  self  in  the  pure 
air  and  under  the  unclouded  dome  of 
heaven,  and  thus  look  down  on  the 
submergence  of  the  valley,  was  strangely 
different  and  even  delightful  to  the  eyes. 
Far  away  were  hill-tops  like  little  islands. 
Nearer,  a  smoky  surf  beat  about  the 
foot  of  precipices  and  poured  into  all 
the  coves  of  these  rough  mountains. 
The  color  of  that  fog  ocean  was  a  thing 
never  to  be  forgotten.     For  an  instant, 


The  Sea  Foos.  i8i 

among  the  Hebrides  and  just  about 
sundown,  I  have  seen  something  hke 
it  on  the  sea  itself.  But  the  white  was 
not  so  opaline;  nor  was  there,  what 
surprisingly  increased  the  effect,  that 
breathless,  crystal  stillness  over  all. 
Even  in  its  gentlest  moods  the  salt  sea 
travails,  moaning  among  the  weeds  or 
lisping  on  the  sand ;  but  that  vast  fog 
ocean  lay  in  a  trance  of  silence,  nor 
did  the  sweet  air  of  the  morning  tremble 
with  a  sound. 

As  I  continued  to  sit  upon  the  dump, 
I  began  to  observe  that  this  sea  was  not 
so  level  as  at  first  sight  it  appeared  to 
be.  Away  in  the  extreme  south,  a  little 
hill  of  fog  arose  against  the  sky  above 
the  general  surface,  and  as  it  had  al- 
ready caught  the  sun,  it  shone  on  the 


1 82         The  Silverado  Squatters. 

horizon  like  the  topsails  of  some  giant 
ship.  There  were  huge  waves,  station- 
ary, as  it  seemed,  like  waves  in  a  frozen 
sea;  and  yet,  as  I  looked  again,  I  was 
not  sure  but  they  were  moving  after  all, 
with  a  slow  and  august  advance.  And 
while  I  was  yet  doubting,  a  promontory 
of  the  hills  some  four  or  five  miles  away, 
conspicuous  by  a  bouquet  of  tall  pines, 
was  in  a  single  instant  overtaken  and 
swallowed  up.  It  reappeared  in  a  little, 
with  its  pines,  but  this  time  as  an  islet, 
and  only  to  be  swallowed  up  once  more 
and  then  for  good.  This  set  me  looking 
nearer,  and  I  saw  that  in  every  cove 
along  the  line  of  mountains  the  fog  was 
being  piled  in  higher  and  higher,  as 
though  by  some  wind  that  was  inaudible 
to  me.     I  could  trace  its  progress,  one 


The  Sea  Fogs.  183 


pine  tree  first  growing  hazy  and  then 
disappearing  after  another;  although 
sometimes  there  was  none  of  this  fore- 
running haze,  but  the  whole  opaque 
white  ocean  gave  a  start  and  swallowed 
a  piece  of  mountain  at  a  gulp.  It  was 
to  flee  these  poisonous  fogs  that  I  had 
left  the  seaboard,  and  climbed  so  high 
among  the  mountains.  And  now,  be- 
hold, here  came  the  fog  to  besiege  me 
in  my  chosen  altitudes,  and  yet  came 
so  beautifully  that  my  first  thought  was 
of  welcome. 

The  sun  had  now  gotten  much  high- 
er, and  through  all  the  gaps  of  the 
hills  it  cast  lono  bars  of  q-old  across 
that  white  ocean.  An  eagle,  or  some 
other  very  great  bird  of  the  mountain, 
came   wheeling   over   the   nearer   pine- 


184         The  Silverado  Squatters. 

tops,  and  hung,  poised  and  something 
sideways,  as  if  to  look  abroad  on  that 
unwonted  desolation,  spying,  perhaps 
with  terror,  for  the  eyries  of  her  com- 
rades. Then,  with  a  long  cry,  she 
disappeared  again  towards  Lake  County 
and  the  clearer  air.  At  length  it  seemed 
to  me  as  if  the  flood  were  beginning 
to  subside.  The  old  landmarks,  by 
whose  disappearance  I  had  measured 
its  advance,  here  a  crag,  there  a  brave 
pine  tree,  now  began,  in  the  inverse 
order,  to  make  their  reappearance  into 
daylight.  I  judged  all  danger  of  the  fog 
was  over.  This  was  not  Noah's  fiood ; 
it  was  but  a  morning  spring,  and 
would  now  drift  out  seaward  whence 
it  came.  So,  mightily  relieved,  and 
a  good  deal   exhilarated   by   the  sight, 


The  Sea  Fogs.  185 

I  went  into  the  house  to  light  the 
fire. 

I  suppose  it  was  nearly  seven  when 
I  once  more  mounted  the  platform  to 
look  abroad.  The  fog  ocean  had 
swelled  up  enormously  since  last  I  saw 
it ;  and  a  few  hundred  feet  below  me, 
in  the  deep  gap  where  the  Toll  House 
stands  and  the  road  runs  through  into 
Lake  County,  it  had  already  topped 
the  slope,  and  was  pouring  over  and 
down  the  other  side  like  driving  smoke. 
The  wind  had  climbed  along  with  it ; 
and  though  I  was  still  in  calm  air,  I 
could  see  the  trees  tossing  below  me, 
and  their  long,  strident  sighing  mount- 
ed to  me  where   I  stood. 

Half  an  hour  later,  the  fog  had  sur- 
mounted   all  the  ridge  on  the  opposite 


1 86         The  Silverado  Squatters. 

side  of  the  gap,  though  a  shoulder  of 
the  mountain  still  warded  it  out  of 
our  canyon.  Napa  valley  and  its  bound- 
ing hills  were  now  utterly  blotted  out. 
The  fog,  sunny  white  in  the  sunshine, 
was  pouring  over  into  Lake  County  in 
a  huge,  ragged  cataract,  tossing  tree- 
tops  appearing  and  disappearing  in  the 
spray.  The  air  struck  with  a  little 
chill,  and  set  me  coughing.  It  smelt 
strong  of  the  fog,  like  the  smell  of  a 
washing-house,  but  with  a  shrev/d  tang 
of  the  sea  salt. 

Had  it  not  been  for  two  things  — 
the  sheltering  spur  which  answered  as 
a  dyke,  and  the  great  valley  on  the 
other  side  which  rapidly  engulfed 
whatever  mounted  —  our  own  little  plat- 
form   in    the    canyon    must    have    been 


The  Sea  Fogs.  187 

already  buried  a  hundred  feet  in  salt 
and  poisonous  air.  As  it  was,  the  inter- 
est of  the  scene  entirely  occupied  our 
minds.  We  were  set  just  out  of  the 
wind,  and  but  just  above  the  fog;  we 
could  listen  to  the  voice  of  the  one  as 
to  music  on  the  stage ;  we  could  plunge 
our  eyes  down  into  the  other,  as  into 
some  flowing:  stream  from  over  the 
parapet  of  a  bridge ;  thus  we  looked 
on  upon  a  strange,  impetuous,  silent, 
shifting  exhibition  of  the  powers  of 
nature,  and  saw  the  familiar  landscape 
changing  from  moment  to  moment 
like  figures  in  a  dream. 

The  imagination  loves  to  trifle  with 
what  is  not.  Had  this  been  indeed 
the  deluge,  I  should  have  felt  more 
strongly,  but  the   emotion   would    have 


1 88         The  Silverado  Squatters. 

been  similar  in  kind.  I  played  with 
the  idea,  as  the  child  flees  in  delighted 
terror  from  the  creations  of  his  fancy. 
The  look  of  the  thing  helped  me. 
And  when  at  last  I  began  to  flee  up 
the  mountain,  it  was  indeed  partly  to 
escape  from  the  raw  air  that  kept  me 
coughing,  but  it  was  also  part  in  play. 
As  I  ascended  the  mountain-side,  I 
came  once  more  to  overlook  the  upper 
surface  of  the  fog;  but  it  wore  a  differ- 
ent appearance  from  what  I  had  beheld 
at  daybreak.  For,  first,  the  sun  now 
fell  on  it  from  high  overhead,  and  its 
surface  shone  and  undulated  like  a  great 
norland  moor  country,  sheeted  with  un- 
trodden morning  snow.  And  next  the 
new  level  must  have  been  a  thousand  or 
fifteen  hundred  feet  higher  than  the  old, 


The  Sea  Fogs,  189       |j^ 

so  that  only  five  or  six  points  of  all  the 
broken  country  below  me,  still  stood 
out.  Napa  Valley  was  now  one  with 
Sonoma  on  the  west.  On  the  hither 
side,  only  a  thin  scattered  fringe  of 
bluffs  was  unsubmerged  ;  and  through 
all  the  gaps  the  fog  was  pouring  over, 
like  an  ocean,  into  the  blue  clear  sunny 
country  on  the  east.  There  it  was  soon 
lost ;  for  it  fell  instantly  into  the  bottom 
of  the  valleys,  following  the  water-shed ; 
and  the  hill-tops  in  that  quarter  were 
still  clear  cut  upon   the  eastern  sky. 

Through  the  Toll  House  gap  and 
over  the  near  ridges  on  the  other  side, 
the  deluge  was  immense.  A  spray  of 
thin  vapor  was  thrown  high  above  it, 
rising  and  falling,  and  blown  into  fantas- 
tic shapes.     The  speed  of  its  course  was 


IQO         The  Silverado  Squatters. 

like  a  mountain  torrent.  Here  and 
there  a  few  tree-tops  were  discovered  and 
then  whehned  again ;  and  for  one  sec- 
ond, the  bough  of  a  dead  pine  beckoned 
out  of  the  spray  Hke  the  arm  of  a  drown- 
ing man.  But  still  the  imagination  was 
dissatisfied,  still  the  ear  waited  for  some- 
thing more.  Had  this  indeed  been 
water  (as  it  seemed  so,  to  the  eye),  with 
what  a  plunge  of  reverberating  thunder 
would  it  have  rolled  upon  its  course,  dis- 
embowelling mountains  and  deracinat- 
ing pines!  And  yet  water  it  was,  and 
sea-water  at  that  —  true  Pacific  billows, 
only  somewhat  rarefied,  rolling  in  mid 
air  among  the  hill-tops. 

I  climbed  still  higher,  among  the  red 
rattlinor  travel  and  dwarf  underwood  of 
Mount  Saint  Helena,  until  I  could  look 


The  Sea  Fogs.  191 

right  down  upon  Silverado,  and  admire 
the  favored  nook  in  which  it  lay.  The 
sunny  plain  of  fog  was  several  hundred 
feet  higher;  behind  the  protecting  spur 
a  gigantic  accumulation  of  cottony  va- 
por threatened,  with  every  second,  to 
blow  over  and  submerge  our  homestead ; 
but  the  vortex  setting  past  the  Toll 
House  was  too  strong ;  and  there  lay 
our  little  platform,  in  the  arms  of  the 
deluge,  but  still  enjoying  its  unbroken 
sunshine.  About  eleven,  however,  thin 
spray  came  flying  over  the  friendly  but- 
tress, and  I  began  to  think  the  fog  had 
hunted  out  its  Jonah  after  all.  But  it 
was  the  last  effort.  The  wind  veered 
while  we  were  at  dinner,  and  began  to 
blow  squally  from  the  mountain  summit; 
and  by  half-past  one,  all  that  world  of 


192         The  Silverado _  Squatters. 

sea-fogs  was  utterly  routed  and  flying 
here  and  there  into  the  south  in  little 
rags  of  cloud.  And  instead  of  a  lone 
sea-beach,  we  found  ourselves  once  more 
inhabiting  a  high  mountain-side,  with 
the  clear  green  country  far  below  us, 
and  the  light  smoke  of  Calistoga  blow- 
ing in  the  air. 

This  was  the  great  Russian  campaign 
for  that  season.  Now  and  then,  in  the 
early  morning,  a  little  white  lakelet  of 
fog  would  be  seen  far  down  in  Napa 
Valley;  but  the  heights  were  not  again 
assailed,  nor  was  the  surrounding  world 
again  shut  off  from  Silverado. 


THE    TOLL    HOUSE. 


13 


THE   TOLL    HOUSE. 


The  Toll  House,  standing  alone  by 
the  wayside  under  nodding  pines,  with 
its  streamlet  and  water-tank ;  its  back- 
woods, tool-bar,  and  well  trodden  cro- 
quet ground ;  the  ostler  standing  by 
the  stable  door,  chewing  a  straw ;  a 
glimpse  of  the  Chinese  cook  in  the 
back  parts ;  and  Mr.  Hoddy  in  the 
bar,  gravely  alert  and  serviceable,  and 
equally  anxious  to  lend  or  borrow 
books;  —  dozed  all  day  in  the  dusty 
sunshine,  more  than  half  asleep.     There 


196         The  Silverado  Squatters. 

were  no  neighbors,  except  the  Hansons 
up  the  hill.  The  traffic  on  the  road 
was  infinitesimal ;  only,  at  rare  intervals, 
a  couple  in  a  wagon,  or  a  dusty  farmer 
on  a  spring-board,  toiling  over  "  the 
grade "  to  that  metropolitan  hamlet, 
Calistoga;  and,  at  the  fixed  hours,  the 
passage  of  the  stages. 

The  nearest  building  was  the  school- 
house,  down  the  road ;  and  the  school- 
ma'am  boarded  at  the  Toll  House, 
walking  thence  in  the  morning  to  the 
little  brown  shanty,  where  she  taught 
the  young  ones  of  the  district,  and 
returning  thither  pretty  weary  in  the 
afternoon.  She  had  chosen  this  out- 
lying situation,  I  understood,  for  her 
health.  Mr.  Corwen  was  consumptive; 
so   was    Rufe ;    so    was    Mr.    Jennings, 


The  Toll  House.  197 

the  engineer.  In  short,  the  place  was 
a  kind  of  small  Davos :  consumptive 
folk  consorting  on  a  hill-top  in  the  most 
unbroken  idleness.  Jennings  never 
did  anything  that  I  could  see,  except 
now  and  then  to  fish,  and  generally 
to  sit  about  in  the  bar  and  the  ver- 
anda, waiting  for  something  to  happen. 
Corwen  and  Rufe  did  as  little  as  pos- 
sible ;  and  if  the  school-ma'am,  poor 
lady,  had  to  work  pretty  hard  all  morn- 
ing, she  subsided  when  it  was  over  into 
much  the  same  dazed  beatitude  as  all 
the  rest. 

Her  special  corner  was  the  parlor  — 
a  very  genteel  room,  with  Bible  prints, 
a  crayon  portrait  of  Mrs.  Corwen  in 
the  height  of  fashion,  a  few  years  ago, 
another  of   her   son    (Mr.    Corwen   was 


198         The  Silverado  Squatters. 

not  represented),  a  mirror,  and  a  selec- 
tion of  dried  grasses.  A  large  book 
was  laid  religiously  on  the  table  — 
"  From  Palace  to  Hovel,"  I  believe,  its 
name  —  full  of  the  raciest  experiences 
in  England.  The  author  had  mingled 
freely  with  all  classes,  the  nobility 
particularly  meeting  him  with  open 
arms;  and  I  must  say  that  traveller 
had  ill  requited  his  reception.  His 
book,  in  short,  was  a  capital  instance 
of  the  Penny  Messalina  school  of  lit- 
erature ;  and  there  arose  from  it,  in 
that  cool  parlor,  in  that  silent,  way- 
side, mountain  inn,  a  rank  atmosphere 
of  gold  and  blood  and  Jenkins,  and 
the  "  Mysteries  of  London,"  and  sick- 
ening, inverted  snobbery,  fit  to  knock 
you  down.     The  mention  of  this  book 


The  Toll  House.  199 

reminds  me  of  another  and  far  racier 
picture  of  our  island  life.  The  latter 
parts  of  Roca77tbole  are  surely  too  spar- 
ingly consulted  in  the  country  which 
they  celebrate.  No  man's  education 
can  be  said  to  be  complete,  nor  is  the 
world  yet  emptied  of  enjoyment,  till 
he  has  made  the  knowledge  of  that 
desperate  fellow,  "  the  Reverend  Pat- 
terson, director  of  the  Evangelical  So- 
ciety." To  follow  the  evolutions  of  that 
reverend  gentleman,  who  goes  through 
scenes  in  which  even  Mr.  Duffield  would 
hesitate  to  place  a  bishop,  is  to  rise  to 
new  ideas.  But,  alas !  there  was  no 
Patterson  about  the  Toll  House.  Only, 
alongside  of  "  From  Palace  to  Hovel,"  a 
sixpenny  "  Ouida "  figured.  So  litera- 
ture, you  see,  was  not  unrepresented. 


200        The  Silverado  Squatters. 

The  school-ma'am  had  friends  to  stay 
with  her,  other  school-ma'ams  enjoying 
their  holidays,  quite  a  bevy  of  damsels. 
They  seemed  never  to  go  out,  or  not 
beyond  the  veranda,  but  sat  close  in 
the  little  parlor,  quietly  talking  or  list- 
ening to  the  wind  among  the  trees. 
Sleep  dwelt  in  the  Toll  House,  like  a 
fixture :  summer  sleep,  shallow,  soft  and 
dreamless.  A  cuckoo-clock,  a  great 
rarity  in  such  a  place,  hooted  at  in- 
tervals about  the  echoing  house ;  and 
Mr.  Jennings  would  open  his  eyes  for 
a  moment  in  the  bar,  and  turn  the  leaf 
of  a  newspaper,  and  the  resting  school- 
ma'ams  in  the  parlor  would  be  recalled 
to  the  consciousness  of  their  inaction. 
Busy  Mrs.  Corwen  and  her  busy  China- 
man might  be  heard  indeed,  in  the  pen- 


The  Toll  House.  201 

etralia,  pounding  dough  or  rattling 
dishes ;  or  perhaps  Rufe  had  called 
up  some  of  the  sleepers  for  a  game  of 
croquet,  and  the  hollow  strokes  of  the 
mallet  sounded  far  away  among  the 
woods :  but  with  these  exceptions,  it 
was  sleep  and  sunshine  and  dust,  and 
the  wind  in  the  pine  trees,  all  day  long. 
A  little  before  stage  time,  that  castle 
of  indolence  awoke.  The  ostler  threw 
his  straw  away  and  set  to  his  prepara- 
tions, Mr.  Jennings  rubbed  his  eyes; 
happy  Mr.  Jennings,  the  something  he 
had  been  waiting  for  all  day  about  to 
happen  at  last !  The  boarders  gathered 
in  the  veranda,  silently  giving  ear,  and 
gazing  down  the  road  with  shaded  eyes. 
And  as  yet  there  was  no  sign  for  the 
senses,  not  a  sound,  not  a  tremor  of  the 


202         The  Silverado  Squatters. 

mountain  road.  The  birds,  to  whom 
the  secret  of  the  hooting  cuckoo  is  un- 
known, must  have  set  down  to  instinct 
this  premonitory  bustle. 

And  then  the  first  of  the  two  stages 
swooped  upon  the  Toll  House  with  a 
roar  and  in  a  cloud  of  dust;  and  the 
shock  had  not  yet  time  to  subside, 
before  the  second  was  abreast  of  it. 
Huge  concerns  they  were,  w'ell-horsed 
and  loaded,  the  men  in  their  shirt- 
sleeves, the  women  swathed  in  veils,  the 
long  whip  cracking  like  a  pistol ;  and  as 
they  charged  upon  that  slumbering  hos- 
telry, each  shepherding  a  dust  storm, 
the  dead  place  blossomed  into  life  and 
talk  and  clatter.  This  the  Toll  House, 
with  its  city  throng,  its  jostling  shoul- 
ders, its  infinity  of  instant   business  in 


The  Toll  House.  203 

the  bar  ?  The  mind  would  not  receive 
it !  The  heartfelt  bustle  of  that  hour  is 
hardFy  credible ;  the  thrill  of  the  great 
shower  of  letters  from  the  post-bag,  the 
childish  hope  and  interest  with  which 
one  gazed  in  all  these  strangers'  eyes. 
They  paused  there  but  to  pass:  the 
blue-clad  China-boy,  the  San  Francisco 
magnate,  the  mystery  in  the  dust  coat, 
the  secret  memoirs  in  tweed,  the  gog- 
gling, well-shod  lady  with  her  troop  of 
girls ;  they  did  but  flash  and  go ;  they 
were  hull-down  for  us  behind  life's 
ocean,  and  we  but  hailed  their  topsails 
on  the  line.  Yet,  out  of  our  great  soli- 
tude of  four  and  twenty  mountain  hours, 
we  thrilled  to  their  momentary  pres- 
ence ;  gauged  and  divined  them,  loved 
and   hated  ;    and   stood  lioht-headed   in 


204         The  Silverado  Squatters. 

that  storm  of  human  electricity.  Yes, 
Hke  Piccadilly  Circus,  this  is  also  one 
of  life's  crossing-places.  Here  I  beheld 
one  man,  already  famous  as  infamous, 
a  centre  of  pistol-shots:  and  another 
who,  if  not  yet  known  to  rumor,  will  fill 
a  column  of  the  Sunday  paper  when 
he  comes  to  hang  —  a  burly,  thick-set, 
powerful  Chinese  desperado,  six  long 
bristles  upon  either  lip ;  redolent  of 
whiskey,  playing  cards,  and  pistols ; 
swaggering  in  the  bar  with  the  low- 
est assumption  of  the  lowest  Euro- 
pean manners;  rapping  out  blackguard 
English  oaths  in  his  canorous  oriental 
voice ;  and  combining  in  one  person  the 
depravities  of  two  races  and  two  civili- 
zations. For  all  his  lust  and  vigor,  he 
seemed  to  look  cold  upon  me  from  the 


The  Toll  House.  205 

valley  of  the  shadow  of  the  gallows. 
He  imagined  a  vain  thing ;  and  while 
he  drained  his  cocktail,  Holbein's  death 
was  at  his  elbow.  Once,  too,  I  fell  in 
talk  with  another  of  these  flitting  stran- 
gers —  like  the  rest,  in  his  shirt-sleeves 
and  all  begrimed  with  dust  —  and  the 
next  minute  we  were  discussing  Paris 
and  London,  theatres  and  wines.  To 
him,  journeying  from  one  human  place 
to  another,  this  was  a  trifle ;  but  to  me  ! 
No,  Mr.  Lillie,  I  have  not  forgotten  it. 

And  presently  the  city-tide  was  at  its 
flood  and  began  to  ebb.  Life  runs  in 
Piccadilly  Circus,  say,  from  nine  to  one, 
and  then,  there  also,  ebbs  into  the  small 
hours  of  the  echoing  policeman  arid  the 
lamps  and  stars.  But  the  Toll  House 
is    far   up    stream,    and    near   its    rural 


2o6         The  Silverado  Squatters. 

springs ;  the  bubble  of  the  tide  but 
touches  it.  Before  you  had  yet  grasped 
your  pleasure,  the  horses  were  put  to, 
the  loud  whips  volleyed,  and  the  tide 
was  gone.  North  and  south  had  the 
two  stages  vanished,  the  towering  dust 
subsided  in  the  woods ;  but  there  was 
still  an  interval  before  the  flush  had 
fallen  on  your  cheeks,  before  the  ear 
became  once  more  contented  with  the 
silence,  as  the  seven  sleepers  of  the  Toll 
House  dozed  back  to  their  accustomed 
corners.  Yet  a  little,  and  the  ostler 
would  swing  round  the  great  barrier 
across  the  road ;  and  in  the  golden 
evening,  that  dreamy  inn  begin  to  trim 
its  lamps  and  spread  the  board  for 
supper. 

As    I   recall    the   place  —  the    green 


The  Toll  House,  207 

dell  below ;  the  spires  of  pine  ;  the  sun- 
warm,  scented  air ;  that  gray,  gabled  inn, 
with  its  faint  stirrings  of  life  amid  the 
slumber  of  the  mountains  —  I  slowly 
awake  to  a  sense  of  admiration,  grati- 
tude, and  almost  love.  A  fine  place, 
after  all,  for  a  wasted  life  to  doze  away 
in  —  the  cuckoo-clock  hooting  of  its 
far  home  country ;  the  croquet  mallets, 
eloquent  of  English  lawns ;  the  stages 
daily  bringing  news  of  the  turbulent 
world  away  below  there ;  and  perhaps 
once  in  the  summer,  a  salt  fog  pouring 
overhead  with  its  tale  of  the  Pacific. 


A    STARRY    DRIVE. 


H 


A    STARRY    DRIVE. 


In  our  rule  at  Silverado,  there  was  a 
melancholy  interregnum.  The  queen 
and  the  crown  prince  with  one  accord 
fell  sick ;  and,  as  I  was  sick  to  begin 
with,  our  lone  position  on  Mount  Saint 
Helena  was  no  longer  tenable,  and  we 
had  to  hurry  back  to  Calistoga  and  a 
cottage  on  the  green.  By  that  time 
we  had  begun  to  realize  the  difficulties 
of  our  position.  We  had  found  what 
an  amount  of  labor  it  cost  to  support 
life  in  our  red  canyon  ;  and  it  was  the 


2  12         The  Silverado  Squatters. 

dearest  desire  of  our  hearts  to  get  a 
China-boy  to  go  along  with  us  when 
we  returned.  We  could  have  given 
him  a  whole  house  to  himself,  self- 
contained,  as  they  say  in  the  adver- 
tisements ;  and  on  the  money  question 
we  were  prepared  to  go  far.  Kong 
Sam  Kee,  the  Calistoga  washerman, 
was  entrusted  with  the  affair ;  and  from 
day  to  day  it  languished  on,  with  pro- 
testations on  our  part  and  melliflu- 
ous excuses  on  the  part  of  Kong  Sam 
Kee. 

At  length,  about  half-past  eight  of 
our  last  evening,  with  the  wagon 
ready  harnessed  to  convey  us  up  the 
grade,  the  washerman,  with  a  somewhat 
sneering  air,  produced  the  boy.  He 
was  a   handsome,   gentlemanly  lad,  at- 


A  Starry  Drive.  2 1 3 

tired  in  rich  dark  blue,  and  shod  with 
snowy  white  ;  but,  alas  !  he  had  heard 
rumors  of  Silverado.  He  knew  it  for 
a  lone  place  on  the  mountain-side, 
with  no  friendly  wash-house  near  by, 
where  he  might  smoke  a  pipe  of  opium 
o'  nights  with  other  China-boys,  and 
lose  his  little  earnings  at  the  game  of 
tan  ;  and  he  first  backed  out  for  more 
money;  and  then,  when  that  demand 
was  satisfied,  refused  to  come  point- 
blank.  He  was  wedded  to  his  wash- 
houses  ;  he  had  no  taste  for  the  rural 
life ;  and  we  must  go  to  our  mountain 
servantless.  It  must  have  been  near 
half  an  hour  before  we  reached  that 
conclusion,  standing  in  the  midst  of 
Calistoga  high  street  under  the  stars, 
and  the  China-boy  and  Kong  Sam  Kee 


214         The  Silverado  Squatters. 

singing  their  pigeon  English  in  the 
sweetest  voices  and  with  the  most 
musical   inflections. 

We  were  not,  however,  to  return 
alone ;  for  we  brought  with  us  Joe 
Strong,  the  painter,  a  most  good- 
natured  comrade  and  a  capital  hand 
at  an  omelette.  I  do  not  know  in 
which  capacity  he  was  most  valued  — 
as  a  cook  or  a  companion ;  and  he  did 
excellently   well    in    both. 

The  Kong  Sam  Kee  negotiation 
had  delayed  us  unduly  ;  it  must  have 
been  half-past  nine  before  we  left  Cal- 
istoga,  and  night  came  fully  ere  we 
struck  the  bottom  of  the  grade.  I 
have  never  seen  such  a  night.  It 
seemed  to  throw  calumny  in  the  teeth 
of   all    the    painters   that   ever   dabbled 


A  Stai'ry  Drive.  2 1 5 

in  starlight.  The  sky  itself  was  of  a 
ruddy,  powerful,  nameless,  changing 
color,  dark  and  glossy  like  a  serpent's 
back.  The  stars,  by  innumerable  mil- 
lions, stuck  boldly  forth  like  lamps. 
The  milky  way  was  bright,  like  a 
moonlit  cloud ;  half  heaven  seemed 
milky  way.  The  greater  luminaries 
shone  each  more  clearly  than  a  win- 
ter's moon.  Their  light  was  dyed  in 
every  sort  of  color  —  red,  like  fire; 
blue,  like  steel ;  green,  like  the  tracks 
of  sunset;  and  so  sharply  did  each 
stand  forth  in  its  own  lustre  that  there 
was  no  appearance  of  that  flat,  star- 
spangled  arch  we  know  so  well  in  pic- 
tures, but  all  the  hollow  of  heaven  was 
one  chaos  of  contesting  luminaries  — 
a   hurly-burly   of    stars.      Against    this 


2i6         The  Silverado  Squatters. 

the  hills  and  rugged  tree-tops  stood  out 
redly,  dark. 

As  we  continued  to  advance,  the 
lesser  lights  and  milky  ways  first  grew 
pale,  and  then  vanished ;  the  count- 
less hosts  of  heaven  dwindled  in  num- 
ber by  successive  millions;  those  that 
still  shone  had  tempered  their  exceed- 
ing brightness  and  fallen  back  into 
their  customary  wistful  distance ;  and 
the  sky  declined  from  its  first  bewil- 
dering splendor  into  the  appearance  of 
a  common  night.  Slowly  this  change 
proceeded,  and  still  there  was  no  sign 
of  any  cause.  Then  a  whiteness  like 
mist  was  thrown  over  the  spurs  of  the 
mountain.  Yet  a  while,  and,  as  we 
turned  a  corner,  a  great  leap  of  silver 
light  and    net   of    forest    shadows   fell 


A  Starry  Drive.  217 

across  the  road  and  upon  our  won- 
dering wagonful ;  and,  swimming  low 
among  the  trees,  we  beheld  a  strange, 
misshapen,  waning  moon,  half-tilted  on 
her  back. 

"  Where  are  ye  when  the  moon  ap- 
pears ? "  as  the  old  poet  sang,  half- 
taunting,  to  the  stars,  bent  upon  a 
courtly  purpose. 

"  As   the   sunlight   round    the    dim    earth's   midnight 
tower  of  shadow  pours, 
Streaming  past  the  dim,  wide  portals. 
Viewless  to  the  eyes  of  mortals, 
Till  it  floods  the  moon's  pale  islet  or  the  morning's 
golden  shores." 

So  sings  Mr.  Trowbridge,  with  a  no- 
ble inspiration.  And  so  had  the  sun- 
light flooded  that  pale  islet  of  the 
moon,  and  her  lit  face  put  out,  one 
after     another,    that     galaxy    of    stars. 


2i8         The  Silverado  Squatters. 

The  wonder  of  the  drive  was  over; 
but,  by  some  nice  conjunction  of  clear- 
ness in  the  air  and  fit  shadow  in  the 
valley  where  we  travelled,  we  had  seen 
for  a  little  while  that  brave  display  of 
the  midnight  heavens.  It  was  gone, 
but  it  had  been ;  nor  shall  I  ever  again 
behold  the  stars  with  the  same  mind. 
He  who  has  seen  the  sea  commoved 
with  a  great  hurricane,  thinks  of  it  very 
differently  from  him  who  has  seen  it 
only  in  a  calm.  And  the  difference 
between  a  calm  and  a  hurricane  is  not 
greatly  more  striking  than  that  be- 
tween the  ordinary  face  of  night  and 
the  splendor  that  shone  upon  us  in 
that  drive.  Two  in  our  wagon  knew 
night  as  she  shines  upon  the  tropics, 
but    even    that    bore    no    comparison. 


A  Starry  Drive.  219 

The  nameless  color  of  the  sky,  the 
hues  of  the  star-fire,  and  the  incredible 
projection  of  the  stars  themselves,  start- 
ing from  their  orbits,  so  that  the  eye 
seemed  to  distinguish  their  positions 
in  the  hollow  of  space  ^—  these  were 
things  that  we  had  never  seen  before 
and  shall    never   see    again. 

Meanwhile,  in  this  altered  night,  we 
proceeded  on  our  way  among  the 
scents  and  silence  of  the  forest,  reached 
the  top  of  the  grade,  wound  up  by 
Hanson's,  and  came  at  last  to  a  stand 
under  the  flying  gargoyle  of  the  chute. 
Sam,  who  had  been  lying  back,  fast 
asleep,  with  the  moon  on  his  face, 
got  down,  with  the  remark  that  it  was 
pleasant  "  to  be  home."  The  wagon 
turned     and     drove    away,    the     noise 


2  20        The  Silverado  Squatters. 

gently  dying  in  the  woods,  and  we 
clambered  up  the  rough  path,  Cali- 
ban's great  feat  of  engineering,  and 
came    home    to   Silverado. 

The  moon  shone  in  at  the  eastern 
doors  and  windows,  and  over  the  lum- 
ber on  the  platform.  The  one  tall  pine 
beside  the  ledge  was  steeped  in  silver. 
Away  up  the  canyon,  a  wild-cat  wel- 
comed us  with  three  discordant  squalls. 
But  once  we  had  lit  a  candle,  and 
began  to  review  our  improvements, 
homely  in  either  sense,  and  count  our 
stores,  it  was  wonderful  what  a  feeling 
of  possession  and  permanence  grew  up 
in  the  hearts  of  the  lords  of  Silverado. 
A  bed  had  still  to  be  made  up  for 
Strong,  and  the  morning's  water  to  be 
fetched,  with  clinking  pail ;  and  as  we 


A  Starry  Drive.  221 

set  about  these  household  duties,  and 
showed  off  our  wealth  and  conveniences 
before  the  stranger,  and  had  a  glass  of 
wine,  I  think,  in  honor  of  our  return, 
and  trooped  at  length  one  after  another 
up  the  flying  bridge  of  plank,  and  lay 
down  to  sleep  in  our  shattered,  moon- 
pierced  barrack,  we  were  among  the 
happiest  sovereigns  in  the  world,  and 
certainly  ruled  over  the  most  contented 
people.  Yet,  in  our  absence,  the  pal- 
ace had  been  sacked.  Wild-cats,  so 
the  Hansons  said,  had  broken  in  and 
carried  off  a  side  of  bacon,  a  hatchet, 
and  two  knives. 


EPISODES   IN   THE   STORY   OF  A 
MINE. 


EPISODES    IN   THE   STORY 
OF  A  MINE. 


No  one  could  live  at  Silverado  and  not 
be  curious  about  the  story  of  the  mine. 
We  were  surrounded  by  so  many  evi- 
dences of  expense  and  toil,  we  lived  so 
entirely  in  the  wreck  of  that  great  en- 
terprise, like  mites  in  the  ruins  of  a 
cheese,  that  the  idea  of  the  old  din  and 
bustle  haunted  our  repose.  Our  own 
house,  the  forge,  the  dump,  the  chutes, 
the  rails,  the  windlass,  the  mass  of 
broken  plant ;  the  two  tunnels,  one  far 


I? 


226         The  Silverado  Squatters. 

below  in  the  green  dell,  the  other  on 
the  platform  where  we  kept  our  wine ; 
the  deep  shaft,  with  the  sun-glints  and 
the  water-drops ;  above  all,  the  ledge, 
that  great  gaping  slice  out  of  the  moun- 
tain shoulder,  propped  apart  by  wooden 
wedges,  on  whose  immediate  margin, 
high  above  our  heads,  the  one  tall  pine 
precariously  nodded  —  these  stood  for 
its  greatness ;  while  the  dog-hutch, 
boot-jacks,  old  boots,  old  tavern  bills, 
and  the  very  beds  that  we  inherited 
from  bygone  miners,  put  in  human 
touches  and  realized  for  us  the  story 
of  the  past. 

I  have  sat  on  an  old  sleeper,  under 
the  thick  madronas  near  the  forge,  with 
just  a  look  over  the  dump  on  the  green 
world   below,  and   seen   the  sun  lying 


Episodes  in  the  Story  of  a  Aline.    227 

broad  among  the  wreck,  and  heard  the 
silence  broken  only  by  the  tinkling 
wat^r  in  the  shaft,  or  a  stir  of  the  royal 
family  about  the  battered  palace,  and 
my  mind  has  gone  back  to  the  epoch 
of  the  Stanleys  and  the  Chapmans,  with 
a  grand  tiitti  of  pick  and  drill,  hammer 
and  anvil,  echoing  about  the  canyon ; 
the  assayer  hard  at  it  in  our  dining- 
room  ;  the  carts  below  on  the  road,  and 
their  cargo  of  red  mineral  bounding 
and  thundering  down  the  iron  chute. 
And  now  all  gone  —  all  fallen  away 
into  this  sunny  silence  and  desertion : 
a  couple  of  squatters  dining  in  the 
assayer's  ofifice,  making  their  beds 
in  the  big  sleeping-room  erstwhile  so 
crowded,  keeping  their  wine  in  the. 
tunnel  that  once  rang  with  picks. 


2  28         The  Silverado  Squatters. 

But  Silverado  itself,  although  now 
fallen  in  its  turn  into  decay,  was  once 
but  a  mushroom,  and  had  succeeded  to 
other  mines  and  other  flitting  cities. 
Twenty  years  ago,  away  down  the  glen 
on  the  Lake  County  side  there  was  a 
place,  Jonestown  by  name,  with  two 
thousand  inhabitants  dwelling  under 
canvas,  and  one  roofed  house  for  the 
sale  of  whiskey.  Round  on  the  western 
side  of  Mount  Saint  Helena  there  was, 
at  the  same  date,  a  second  large  en- 
campment, its  name,  if  it  ever  had  one, 
lost  for  me.  Both  of  these  have  per- 
ished, leaving  not  a  stick  and  scarce 
a  memory  behind  them.  Tide  after 
tide  of  hopeful  miners  have  thus  flowed 
and  ebbed  about  the  mountain,  coming 
and  going,  now  by  solitary  prospectors, 


Episodes  i7i  the  Story  of  a  Mme.    229 

now  with  a  rush.  Last  in  order  of 
time  came  Silverado,  reared  the  big 
mill,  in  the  valley,  founded  the  town 
which  is  now  represented,  monumen- 
tally, by  Hanson's,  pierced  all  these 
slaps  and  shafts  and  tunnels,  and  in 
turn  declined  and  died  away. 

"  Our  noisy  years  seem  moments  in  the  wake 
Of  the  eternal  silence." 

As  to  the  success  of  Silverado  in  its 
time  of  being,  two  reports  were  current. 
According  to  the  first,  six  hundred  thou- 
sand dollars  were  taken  out  of  that 
great  upright  seam,  that  still  hung  open 
above  us  on  crazy  wedges.  Then  the 
ledge  pinched  out,  and  there  followed, 
in  quest  of  the  remainder,  a  great  drift- 
ing and  tunnelling  in  all  directions,  and 
a  great  consequent  effusion  of  dollars, 


230         The  Silverado  Squatters. 

until,  all  parties  being  sick  of  the  ex- 
pense, the  mine  was  deserted,  and  the 
town  decamped.  According  to  the  sec- 
ond version,  told  me  with  much  secrecy 
of  manner,  the  whole  affair,  mine,  mill, 
and  town,  were  parts  of  one  majestic 
swindle.  There  had  never  come  any 
silver  out  of  any  portion  of  the  mine  ; 
there  was  no  silver  to  come.  At  mid- 
night trains  of  pack-horses  might  have 
been  observed  winding  by  devious 
tracks  about  the  shoulder  of  the  moun- 
tain. They  came  from  far  away,  from 
Amador  or  Placer,  laden  with  silver 
in  "  old  cigar-boxes."  They  discharged 
their  load  at  Silverado,  in  the  hour  of 
sleep ;  and  before  the  morning  they 
were  gone  again  with  their  mysteri- 
ous drivers   to    their   unknown    source. 


Episodes  in  the  Story  of  a  Mine.    231 

In  this  way,  twenty  thousand  pounds' 
worth  of  silver  was  smuQ^orled  in  under 
cover  of  night,  in  these  old  cigar-boxes  ; 
mixed  with  Silverado  mineral ;  carted 
down  to  the  mill ;  crushed,  amalgamated, 
and  refined,  and  despatched  to  the  city 
as  the  proper  product  of  the  mine. 
Stock-jobbing,  if  it  can  cover  such  ex- 
penses, must  be  a  profitable  business  in 
San  Francisco. 

I  give  these  two  versions  as  I  got 
them.  But  I  place  little  reliance  on 
either,  my  belief  in  history  having  been 
greatly  shaken.  For  it  chanced  that  I 
had  come  to  dwell  in  Silverado  at  a 
critical  hour ;  great  events  in  its  history 
were  about  to  happen  —  did  happen,  as 
I  am  led  to  believe  ;  nay,  and  it  will  be 
seen  that  I  played  a  part  in  that  revolu- 


232        The  Silverado  Squatters. 

tion  myself.  And  yet  from  first  to  last 
I  never  had  a  glimmer  of  an  idea  what 
was  going  on ;  and  even  now,  after  full 
reflection,  profess  myself  at  sea.  That 
there  was  some  obscure  intrigue  of  the 
cigar-box  order,  and  that  I,  in  the  char- 
acter of  a  wooden  puppet,  set  pen  to 
paper  in  the  interest  of  somebody,  so 
much,  and  no  more,  is  certain. 

Silverado,  then  under  my  immedi- 
ate sway,  belonged  to  one  whom  I  will 
call  a  Mr.  Ronalds.  I  only  knew  him 
through  the  extraordinarily  distorting 
medium  of  local  gossip,  now  as  a  mo- 
mentous jobber;  now  as  a  dupe  to 
point  an  adage  ;  and  again,  and  much 
more  probably,  as  an  ordinary  Christian 
gentleman  like  you  or  me,  who  had 
opened  a  mine  and  worked  it  for  a  while 


Episodes  i7i  the  Story  of  a  Mine,    233 

with  better  and  worse  fortune.  So, 
through  a  defective  window-pane,  you 
may  see  the  passer-by  shoot  up  into  a 
hunch-backed  giant  or  dwindle  into  a 
pot-bellied  dwarf. 

To  Ronalds,  at  least,  the  mine  be- 
longed ;  but  the  notice  by  which  he  held 
it  would  run  out  upon  the  30th  of  June 
—  or  rather,  as  I  suppose,  it  had  run  out 
already,  and  the  month  of  grace  would 
expire  upon  that  day,  after  which  any 
American  citizen  might  post  a  notice  of 
his  own,  and  make  Silverado  his.  This, 
with  a  sort  of  quiet  slyness,  Rufe  told 
me  at  an  early  period  of  our  acquaint- 
ance. There  was  no  silver,  of  course ; 
the  mine  "wasn't  worth  nothing,  Mr. 
Stevens,"  but  there  was  a  deal  of  old 
iron  and  wood  around,  and  to  gain  pos- 


2  34        ^^<^  Silverado  Squatters. 

session  of  this  old  wood  and  iron,  and 
get  a  right  to  the  water,  Rufe  proposed, 
if  I  had  no  objections,  to  "jump  the 
claim." 

Of  course,  I  had  no  objection.  But 
I  was  filled  with  wonder.  If  all  he 
wanted  was  the  wood  and  iron,  what, 
in  the  name  of  fortune,  was  to  prevent 
him  taking  them?  "His  right  there 
was  none  to  dispute."  He  might  lay 
hands  on  all  to-morrow,  as  the  wild- 
cats had  laid  hands  upon  our  knives 
and  hatchet.  Besides,  was  this  mass 
of  heavy  mining  plant  worth  transpor- 
tation ?  If  it  was,  why  had  not  the 
rightful  owners  carted  it  away.^*  If  it 
was,  would  they  not  preserve  their  title 
to  these  movables,  even  after  they  had 
lost  their  title  to  the  mine.i^      And  if 


Episodes  iii  the  Story  of  a  Mine.    235 

it  were  not,  what  the  better  was  Rufe  ? 
Nothing  would  grow  at  Silverado  ;  there 
was  even  no  wood  to  cut ;  beyond  a 
sense  of  property,  there  was  nothing 
to  be  gained.  Lastly,  was  it  at  all 
credible  that  Ronalds  would  forget  what 
Rufe  remembered  ?  The  days  of  grace 
were  not  yet  over:  any  fine  morning 
he  might  appear,  paper  in  hand,  and 
enter  for  another  year  on  his  inherit- 
ance. However,  it  was  none  of  my 
business ;  all  seemed  legal ;  Rufe  or 
Ronalds,  all  was  one  to  me. 

On  the  morning  of  the  27th,  Mrs. 
Hanson  appeared  with  the  milk  as 
usual,  in  her  sun-bonnet.  The  time 
would  be  out  on  Tuesday,  she  reminded 
us,  and  bade  me  be  in  readiness  to  play 
my  part,  though  I  had  no  idea  what  it 


236         The  Silverado  Squatters. 

was  to  be.  And  suppose  Ronalds 
came?  we  asked.  She  received  the 
idea  with  derision,  laughing  aloud  with 
all  her  fine  teeth.  He  could  not  find 
the  mine  to  save  his  life,  it  appeared, 
without  Rufe  to  guide  him.  Last  year, 
when  he  came,  they  heard  him  "  up  and 
down  the  road  a  hollerin'  and  a  raisin' 
Cain."  And  at  last  he  had  to  come 
to  the  Hansons  in  despair,  and  bid 
Rufe,  "Jump  into  your  pants  and  shoes, 
and  show  me  where  this  old  mine  is, 
anyway ! "  Seeing  that  Ronalds  had 
laid  out  so  much  money  in  the  spot, 
and  that  a  beaten  road  led  right  up  to 
the  bottom  of  the  dump,  I  thought  this 
a  remarkable  example.  The  sense  of 
locality  must  be  singularly  in  abeyance 
in  the  case  of  Ronalds. 


Episodes  in  the  Story  of  a  Mine,    237 

That  same  evening,  supper  comfort- 
ably over,  Joe  Strong  busy  at  work  on 
a  drawing  of  the  dump  and  the  opposite 
hills,  we  were  all  out  on  the  platform 
together,  sitting  there,  under  the  tented 
heavens,  with  the  same  sense  of  privacy 
as  if  we  had  been  cabined  in  a  parlor, 
when  the  sound  of  brisk  footsteps  came 
mounting  up  the  path.  We  pricked 
our  ears  at  this,  for  the  tread  seemed 
lighter  and  firmer  than  was  usual  with 
our  country  neighbors.  And  presently, 
sure  enough,  two  town  gentlemen,  with 
cigars  and  kid  gloves,  came  debouching 
past  the  house.  They  looked  in  that 
place  like  a  blasphemy. 

"  Good  evening,"  they  said.  For 
none  of  us  had  stirred ;  we  all  sat  stiff 
with  wonder. 


238         The  Silverado  Squatters. 

"  Good  evening,"  I  returned ;  and 
then,  to  put  them  at  their  ease,  "  A 
stiff  climb,"  I  added. 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  leader ;  "  but  we 
have  to  thank  you  for  this  path." 

I  did  not  like  the  man's  tone.  None 
of  us  liked  it.  He  did  not  seem  em- 
barrassed by  the  meeting,  but  threw  us 
his  remarks  like  favors,  and  strode 
magisterially  by  us  towards  the  shaft 
and  tunnel. 

Presently  we  heard  his  voice  raised 
to  his  companion.  "  We  drifted  every 
sort  of  way,  but  could  n't  strike  the 
ledge."  Then  again :  "  It  pinched 
out  here."  And  once  more :  "  Every 
miner  that  ever  worked  upon  it  says 
there 's  bound  to  be  a  ledge  some- 
where." 


Episodes  in  the  Story  of  a  Mine.    239 

These  were  the  snatches  of  his  talk 
that  reached  us,  and  they  had  a  damn- 
ing significance.  We,  the  lords  of 
Silverado,  had  come  face  to  face  with 
our  superior.  It  is  the  worst  of  all 
quaint  and  of  all  cheap  ways  of  life 
that  they  bring  us  at  last  to  the  pinch 
of  some  humiliation.  I  liked  well 
enough  to  be  a  squatter  when  there 
was  none  but  Hanson  by;  before 
Ronalds,  I  will  own,  I  somewhat 
quailed.  I  hastened  to  do  him  fealty, 
said  I  gathered  he  was  the  Squattee, 
and  apologized.  He  threatened  me 
with  ejection,  in  a  manner  grimly 
pleasant  —  more  pleasant  to  him,  I 
fancy,  than  to  me ;  and  then  he  passed 
off  into  praises  of  the  former  state  of 
Silverado.      "  It  was    the    busiest    little 


240         The  Silverado  Squatters. 

mining  town  you  ever  saw : "  a  popula- 
tion of  between  a  thousand  and  fifteen 
hundred  souls,  the  engine  in  full  blast, 
the  mill  newly  erected;  nothing  going 
but  champagne,  and  hope  the  order  of 
the  day.  Ninety  thousand  dollars  came 
out ;  a  hundred  and  forty  thousand  were 
put  in,  making  a  net  loss  of  fifty  thou- 
sand. The  last  days,  I  gathered,  the 
days  of  John  Stanley,  were  not  so 
bright;  the  champagne  had  ceased  to 
flow,  the  population  was  already  moving 
elsewhere,  and  Silverado  had  begun 
to  wither  in  the  branch  before  it  was 
cut  at  the  root.  The  last  shot  that  was 
fired  knocked  over  the  stone  chimney, 
and  made  that  hole  in  the  roof  of  our 
barrack,  through  which  the  sun  was 
wont  to  visit  slug-a-beds  towards  after- 


Episodes  in  the  Story  of  a  Mine.    241 

noon.     A  noisy  last  shot,  to  inaugurate 
the  days  of  silence. 

Throughout  this  interview,  my  con- 
science was  a  good  deal  exercised ;  and 
I  was  moved  to  throw  myself  on  my 
knees  and  own  the  intended  treachery. 
But  then  I  had  Hanson  to  consider. 
I  was  in  much  the  same  position  as 
Old  Rowley,  that  royal  humorist,  whom 
*'  the  rogue  had  taken  into  his  con- 
fidence." And  again,  here  was  Ronalds 
on  the  spot.  He  must  know  the  day 
of  the  month  as  well  as  Hanson  and 
I.  If  a  broad  hint  were  necessar)^,  he 
had  the  broadest  in  the  world.  For 
a  large  board  had  been  nailed  by  the 
crown  prince  on  the  very  front  of  our 
house,  between   the  door  and  window, 

painted   in  cinnabar  —  the    pigment   of 
16 


242         The  Silverado  Squatters, 

the  country  —  with  doggerel  rhymes  and 
contumelious  pictures,  and  announcing, 
in  terms  unnecessarily  figurative,  that 
the  trick  was  already  played,  the  claim 
already  jumped,  and  Master  Sam  the 
legitimate  successor  of  Mr.  Ronalds. 
But  no,  nothing  could  save  that  man ; 
quern  deus  vult  perdere,  prius  dementat. 
As  he  came  so  he  went,  and  left  his 
rights  depending. 

Late  at  night,  by  Silverado  reckoning, 
and  after  we  were  all  abed,  Mrs.  Han- 
son returned  to  give  us  the  newest  of 
her  news.  It  was  like  a  scene  in  a 
ship's  steerage ;  all  of  us  abed  in  our 
different  tiers,  the  single  candle  strug- 
gling with  the  darkness,  and  this  plump, 
handsome  woman,  seated  on  an  up- 
turned valise  beside  the  bunks,  talking 


Episodes  in  the  Story  of  a  Mine.    243 

and  showing  her  fine  teeth,  and  laugh- 
ing till  the  rafters  rang.  Any  ship,  to 
be  sure,  with  a  hundredth  part  as  many 
holes  in  it  as  our  barrack,  must  long 
ago  have  gone  to  her  last  port.  Up  to 
that  time  I  had  always  imagined  Mrs. 
Hanson's  loquacity  to  be  mere  inconti- 
nence, that  she  said  what  was  upper- 
most for  the  pleasure  of  speaking,  and 
laughed  and  laughed  again  as  a  kind 
of  musical  accompaniment.  But  I 
now  found  there  was  an  art  in  it.  I 
found  it  less  communicative  than  silence 
itself.  I  wished  to  know  why  Ronalds 
had  come ;  how  he  had  found  his  way 
without  Rufe ;  and  why,  being  on  the 
spot,  he  had  not  refreshed  his  title. 
She  talked  interminably  on,  but  her 
replies  were  never  answers.      She   fled 


244         "^^^^  Silverado  Squatters. 

under  a  cloud  of  words ;  and  when  I 
had  made  sure  that  she  was  purposely 
eluding  me,  I  dropped  the  subject  in 
my  turn,  and  let  her  rattle  where  she 
would. 

She  had  come  to  tell  us  that,  instead 
of  waiting  for  Tuesday,  the  claim  was 
to  be  jumped  on  the  morrow.  How.? 
If  the  time  were  not  out,  it  was  impos- 
sible. Why.?  If  Ronalds  had  come 
and  gone,  and  done  nothing,  there 
was  the  less  cause  for  hurry.  But  again 
I  could  reach  no  satisfaction.  The 
claim  was  to  be  jumped  next  morning, 
that  was  all  that  she  would  condescend 
upon. 

And  yet  it  was  not  jumped  the  next 
morning,  nor  yet  the  next,  and  a  whole 
week   had    come   and   gone   before   we 


-I 


Episodes  in  the  Story  of  a  Mine.    245 

heard  more  of  this  exploit.  That  day 
week,  however,  a  day  of  great  heat, 
Hanson,  with  a  Httle  roll  of  paper  in 
his  hand,  and  the  eternal  pipe  alight ; 
Breedlove,  his  large,  dull  friend,  to  act, 
I  suppose,  as  witness;  Mrs.  Hanson, 
in  her  Sunday  best;  and  all  the  chil- 
dren, from  the  oldest  to  the  youngest; 
—  arrived  in  a  procession,  tailing  one 
behind  another  up  the  path.  Caliban 
was  absent,  but  he  had  been  chary  of 
his  friendly  visits  since  the  row ;  and, 
with  that  exception,  the  whole  family 
was  gathered  together  as  for  a  marriage 
or  a  christening.  Strong  was  sitting  at 
work,  in  the  shade  of  the  dwarf  ma- 
dronas  near  the  forge ;  and  they  planted 
themselves  about  him  in  a  circle,  one 
on  a  stone,  another  on  the  wagon  rails, 


246         The  Silverado  Squatters. 

a  third  on  a  piece  of  plank.  Gradually 
the  children  stole  away  up  the  canyon 
to  where  there  was  another  chute,  some- 
what smaller  than  the  one  across  the 
dump ;  and  down  this  chute,  for  the 
rest  of  the  afternoon,  they  poured  one 
avalanche  of  stones  after  another,  wak- 
ing the  echoes  of  the  glen.  Mean- 
time we  elders  sat  together  on  the 
platform,  Hanson  and  his  friend  smok- 
ing in  silence  like  Indian  sachems,  Mrs. 
Hanson  rattling  on  as  usual  with  an 
adroit  volubility,  saying  nothing,  but 
keeping  the  party  at  their  ease  like  a 
courtly  hostess. 

Not  a  word  occurred  about  the  busi- 
ness of  the  day.  Once,  twice,  and 
thrice  I  tried  to  slide  the  subject  in, 
but  was  discouraged  by  the  stoic  apathy 


Episodes  m  the  Story  of  a  Mine.    247 

of  Rufe,  and  beaten  down  before  the 
pouring  verbiage  of  his  wife.  There 
is  nothing  of  the  Indian  brave  about 
me,  and  I  began  to  grill  with  impa- 
tience. At  last,  like  a  highway  robber, 
I  cornered  Hanson,  and  bade  him 
stand  and  deliver  his  business.  There- 
upon he  gravely  rose,  as  though  to  hint 
that  this  was  not  a  proper  place,  nor 
the  subject  one  suitable  for  squaws,  and 
I,  following  his  example,  led  him  up 
the  plank  into  our  barrack.  There  he 
bestowed  himself  on  a  box,  and  unrolled 
his  papers  with  fastidious  deliberation. 
There  were  two  sheets  of  note-paper, 
and  an  old  mining  notice,  dated  May 
30th,  1879,  part  print,  part  manuscript, 
and  the  latter  much  obliterated  by 
the    rains.     It    was    by    this    identical 


248         The  Silverado  Squatters. 

piece  of  paper  that  the  mine  had  been 
held  last  year.  For  thirteen  months 
it  had  endured  the  weather  and  the 
change  of  seasons  on  a  cairn  behind 
the  shoulder  of  the  canyon ;  and  it 
was  now  my  business,  spreading  it 
before  me  on  the  table,  and  sitting 
on  a  valise,  to  copy  its  terms,  with 
some  necessary  changes,  twice  over  on 
the  two  sheets  of  note-paper.  One  was 
then  to  be  placed  on  the  same  cairn 
—  a  "  mound  of  rocks "  the  notice  put 
it;  and  the  other  to  be  lodged  for 
registration. 

Rufe  watched  me,  silently  smoking, 
till  I  came  to  the  place  for  the  locator's 
name  at  the  end  of  the  first  copy ;  and 
when  I  proposed  that  he  should  sign, 
I  thought  I  saw  a  scare  in  his  eye.     "  I 


Episodes  in  the  Story  of  a  Mine,    249 

don't  think  that'll  be  necessary,"  he 
said  slowly ;  "  just  you  write  it  down." 
Perhaps  this  mighty  hunter,  who  was 
the  most  active  member  of  the  local 
school  board,  could  not  write.  There 
would  be  nothing  strange  in  that.  The 
constable  of  Calistoga  is,  and  has  been 
for  years,  a  bed-ridden  man,  and,  if  I 
remember  rightly,  blind.  He  had  more 
need  of  the  emoluments  than  another, 
it  was  explained ;  and  it  was  easy  for 
him  to  "  depytize,"  with  a  strong  accent 
on  the  last.  So  friendly  and  so  free 
are    popular    institutions. 

When  I  had  done  my  scrivening, 
Hanson  strolled  out,  and  addressed 
Breedlove,  "  Will  you  step  up  here  a 
bit } "  and  after  they  had  disappeared 
a   little    while    into    the   chaparral    and 


250         The  Silverado  Squatters. 

madrona  thicket,  they  came  back  again 
minus  a  notice,  and  the  deed  was 
done.  The  claim  was  jumped ;  a 
tract  of  mountain-side,  fifteen  hundred 
feet  long  by  six  hundred  wide,  with 
all  the  earth's  precious  bowels,  had 
passed  from  Reynolds  to  Hanson,  and, 
in  the  passage,  changed  its  name  from 
the  "  Mammoth "  to  the  "  Calistoga." 
I  had  tried  to  get  Rufe  to  call  it  after 
his  wife,  after  himself,  and  after  Gar- 
field, the  Republican  Presidential  can- 
didate of  the  hour  —  since  then  elected, 
and,  alas!  dead  —  but  all  was  in  vain. 
The  claim  had  once  been  called  the 
Calistoga  before,  and  he  seemed  to 
feel    safety    in    returning    to    that. 

And    so    the    history    of    that    mine 
became    once    more    plunged    in    dark- 


Episodes  in  the  Story  of  a  Mine.    251 

ness,  lit  only  by  some  monster  pyro- 
technical  displays  of  gossip.  And  per- 
haps the  most  curious  feature  of  the 
whole  matter  is  this  :  that  we  should 
have  dwelt  in  this  quiet  corner  of  the 
mountains,  with  not  a  dozen  neighbors, 
and  yet  struggled  all  the  while,  like 
desperate  swimmers,  in  this  sea  of  fal- 
sities and  contradictions.  Wherever  a 
man   is,    there   will    be   a   lie. 


TOILS   AND    PLEASURES. 


TOILS   AND    PLEASURES. 


I  MUST  try  to  convey  some  notion  of  our 
life,  of  how  the  days  passed  and  what 
pleasure  we  took  in  them,  of  what  there 
was  to  do  and  how  we  set  about  doing 
it,  in  our  mountain  hermitage.  The 
house,  after  we  had  repaired  the  worst 
of  the  damages,  and  filled  in  some  of  the 
doors  and  windows  with  white  cotton 
cloth,  became  a  healthy  and  a  pleasant 
dwelling-place,  always  airy  and  dry,  and 
haunted  by  the  outdoor  perfumes  of  the 
glen.     Within,  it  had  the  look  of  habita- 


256         The  Silverado  Squatters. 

tion,  the  human  look.  You  had  only  to 
go  into  the  third  room,  which  we  did 
not  use,  and  see  its  stones,  its  sifting 
earth,  its  tumbled  litter;  and  then  re- 
turn to  our  lodging,  with  the  beds  made, 
the  plates  on  the  rack,  the  pail  of  bright 
water  behind  the  door,  the  stove  crack- 
ling in  a  corner,  and  perhaps  the  table 
roughly  laid  against  a  meal,  —  and 
man's  order,  the  little  clean  spots  that 
he  creates  to  dwell  in,  were  at  once  con- 
trasted with  the  rich  passivity  of  nature. 
And  yet  our  house  was  everywhere  so 
wrecked  and  shattered,  the  air  came  and 
went  so  freely,  the  sun  found  so  many 
portholes,  the  golden  out-door  glow 
shone  in  so  many  open  chinks,  that  we 
enjoyed,  at  the  same  time,  some  of  the 
comforts  of  a  roof  and  much  of  the  gay- 


Toils  and  Pleasures.  257 

ety  and  brightness  of  al  fresco  life.  A 
single  shower  of  rain,  to  be  sure,  and  we 
should  have  been  drowned  out  like 
mice.  But  ours  was  a  Californian  sum 
mer,  and  an  earthquake  was  a  far  likelier 
accident  than  a  shower  of  rain. 

Trustful  in  this  fine  weather,  we  kept 
the  house  for  kitchen  and  bedroom,  and 
used  the  platform  as  our  summer  parlor. 
The  sense  of  privacy,  as  I  have  said 
already,  was  complete.  We  could  look 
over  the  dump  on  miles  of  forest  and 
rough  hilltop ;  our  eyes  commanded 
some  of  Napa  Valley,  where  the  train 
ran,  and  the  little  country  townships  sat 
so  close  together  along  the  line  of  the 
rail.  But  here  there  was  no  man  to  in- 
trude. •  None  but  the  Hansons  were  our 
visitors.     Even  they  came  but  at   long 


258         The  Silverado  Squatters. 

intervals,  or  twice  daily,  at  a  stated  hour, 
with  milk.  So  our  days,  as  they  were 
never  interrupted,  drew  out  to  the 
greater  length ;  hour  melted  insensibly 
into  hour;  the  household  duties,  though 
they  were  many,  and  some  of  them  labo- 
rious, dwindled  into  mere  islets  of  busi- 
ness in  a  sea  of  sunny  day-time ;  and  it 
appears  to  me,  looking  back,  as  though 
the  far  greater  part  of  our  life  at  Silver- 
ado had  been  passed,  propped  upon  an 
elbow,  or  seated  on  a  plank,  listening  to 
the  silence  that  there  is  among  the 
hills. 

My  work,  it  is  true,  was  over  early  in 
the  morning.  I  rose  before  any  one 
else,  lit  the  stove,  put  on  the  water  to 
boil,  and  strolled  forth  upon  the  plat- 
form to  wait  till  it  was  ready.     Silverado 


Toils  and  Pleasures.  259 

would  then  be  still  in  shadow,  the  sun 
shining  on  the  mountain  higher  up.  A 
clean  smell  of  trees,  a  smell  of  the  earth 
at  morning,  hung  in  the  air.  Regularly, 
every  day,  there  was  a  single  bird, 
not  singing,  but  awkwardly  chirruping 
among  the  green  madronas,  and  the 
sound  was  cheerful,  natural,  and  stirring. 
It  did  not  hold  the  attention,  nor  inter- 
rupt the  thread  of  meditation,  like  a 
blackbird  or  a  nightingale ;  it  was  mere 
woodland  prattle,  of  which  the  mind  was 
conscious  like  a  perfume.  The  fresh- 
ness of  these  morning  seasons  remained 
with  me  far  on  into  the  day. 

As  soon  as  the  kettle  boiled,  I 
made  porridge  and  coffee ;  and  that, 
beyond  the  literal  drawing  of  water, 
and  the  preparation  of  kindling,  which 


26o         The  Silverado  Squatters. 

it  would  be  hyperbolical  to  call  the 
hewing  of  wood,  ended  my  domestic  du- 
ties for  the  day.  Thenceforth  my  wife 
labored  single-handed  in  the  palace, 
and  I  lay  or  wandered  on  the  platform 
at  my  own  sweet  will.  The  little  cor- 
ner near  the  forge,  where  we  found  a 
refuge  under  the  madronas  from  the  un- 
■  sparing  early  sun,  is  indeed  connected 
in  my  mind  with  some  nightmare 
encounters  over  Euclid,  and  the  Latin 
Grammar.  These  were  known  as  Sam's 
lessons.  He  was  supposed  to  be  the 
victim  and  the  sufferer ;  but  here  there 
must  have  been  some  misconception, 
for  whereas  I  generally  retired  to  bed 
after  one  of  these  engagements,  he  was 
no  sooner  set  free  than  he  dashed  up 
to  the  Chinaman's  house,  where  he  had 


Toils  and  Pleasures.  261 

installed  a  printing  press,  that  great 
element  of  civilization,  and  the  sound 
of  his  labors  would  be  faintly  audible 
about  the  canyon  half  the  day. 

To  walk  at  all  was  a  laborious  busi- 
ness ;  the  foot  sank  and  slid,  the  boots 
were  cut  to  pieces,  among  sharp,  un- 
even, rolling  stones.  When  we  crossed 
the  platform  in  any  direction,  .  it  was 
usual  to  lay  a  course,  following  as  much 
as  possible  the  line  of  wagon  rails. 
Thus,  if  water  were  to  be  drawn,  the 
water-carrier  left  the  house  alono;  some 
tilting  planks  that  we  had  laid  down, 
and  not  laid  down  very  well.  These 
carried  him  to  that  great  highroad,  the 
railway ;  and  the  railway  served  him  as 
far  as  to  the  head  of  the  shaft.  But 
from    thence    to    the    spring   and    back 


262         The  Silverado  Squatters. 

ao[ain  he  made  the  best  of  his  unaided 
way,  staggering  among  the  stones,  and 
wading  in  low  growth  of  the  calcanthus, 
where  the  rattlesnakes  lay  hissing  at  his 
passage.  Yet  I  liked  to  draw  water. 
It  was  pleasant  to  dip  the  gray  metal 
pail  into  the  clean,  colorless,  cool  water ; 
pleasant  to  carry  it  back,  with  the  water 
lipping  at  the  edge,  and  a  broken  sun- 
beam quivering  in  the  midst. 

But  the  extreme  roughness  of  the 
walking  confined  us  in  common  practice 
to  the  platform,  and  indeed  to  those 
parts  of  it  that  were  most  easily  acces- 
sible along  the  line  of  rails.  The  rails 
came  straight  forward  from  the  shaft, 
here  and  there  overgrown  with  little 
green  bushes,  but  still  entire,  and  still 
carrying  a  truck,   which   it  was    Sam's 


Toils  and  Pleasures.  263 

delight  to  trundle  to  and  fro  by  the 
hour  with  various  ladings.  About  mid- 
way down  the  platform,  the  railroad 
trended  to  the  right,  leaving  our  house 
and  coasting  along  the  far  side  within 
a  few  yards  of  the  madronas  and  the 
forge,  and  not  far  off  the  latter,  ended 
in  a  sort  of  platform  on  the  edge  of  the 
dump.  There,  in  old  days,  the  trucks 
were  tipped,  and  their  load  sent  thun- 
dering down  the  chute.  There,  besides, 
was  the  only  spot  where  we  could  ap- 
proach the  margin  of  the  dump.  Any- 
where else,  you  took  your  life  in  your 
right  hand  when  you  came  within  a 
yard  and  a  half  to  peer  over.  For  at 
any  moment  the  dump  might  begin  to 
slide  and  carry  you  down  and  bury  you 
below  its  ruins.      Indeed,  the   neighbor- 


264         The  Silverado  Squatters. 

hood  of  an  old  mine  is  a  place  beset 
with  dangers.  For  as  still  as  Silverado 
was,  at  any  moment  the  report  of  rotten 
wood  might  tell  us  that  the  platform 
had  fallen  into  the  shaft ;  the  dump 
might  begin  to  pour  into  the  road 
below ;  or  a  wedge  slip  in  the  great 
upright  seam,  and  hundreds  of  tons  of 
mountain  bury  the  scene  of  our  en- 
campment. 

I  have  already  compared  the  dump 
to  a  rampart,  built  certainly  by  some 
rude  people,  and  for  prehistoric  wars. 
It  was  likewise  a  frontier.  All  below 
was  green  and  woodland,  the  tall  pines 
soaring  one  above  another,  each  with 
a  firm  outline  and  full  spread  of  bough. 
All  above  was  arid,  rocky,  and  bald. 
The  great  spout  of  broken  mineral,  that 


Toils  and  Pleasures.  265 

had  dammed  the  canyon  up,  was  a  crea- 
ture of  man's  handiwork,  its  material 
dug  out  with  a  pick  and  powder,  and 
spread  by  the  service  of  the  trucks. 
But  nature  herself,  in  that  upper  district, 
seemed  to  have  had  an  eye  to  nothing 
besides  mining ;  and  even  the  natural 
hill-side  was  all  sliding  gravel  and  pre- 
carious boulder.  Close  at  the  margin 
of  the  well  leaves  would  decay  to  skel- 
etons and  mummies,  which  at  length 
some  stronger  gust  would  carry  clear 
of  the  canyon  and  scatter  in  the  sub- 
jacent woods.  Even  moisture  and  de- 
caying vegetable  matter  could  not  with 
all  nature's  alchemy,  concoct  enough 
soil  to  nourish  a  few  poor  grasses.  It 
is  the  same,  they  say,  in  the  neighbor- 
hood of  all  silver  mines ;  the  nature  of 


266        The  Silverado  Squatters. 

that  precious  rock  being  stubborn  with 
quartz  and  poisonous  with  cinnabar. 
Both  were  plenty  in  our  Silverado. 
The  stones  sparkled  white  in  the  sun- 
shine with  quartz ;  they  were  all  stained 
red  with  cinnabar.  Here,  doubtless, 
came  the  Indians  of  yore  to  paint  their 
faces  for  the  war-path ;  and  cinnabar, 
if  I  remember  rightly,  was  one  of  the 
few  articles  of  Indian  commerce.  Now, 
Sam  had  it  in  his  undisturbed  posses- 
sion, to  pound  down  and  slake,  and 
paint  his  rude  designs  with.  But  to 
me  it  had  always  a  fine  flavor  of  poetry, 
compounded  out  of  Indian  story  and 
Hawthornden's  allusion : 

"  Desire,  alas  !  desire  a  Zeuxis  new, 
From  Indies  borrowing  gold,  from  Eastern  skies 
Most  bright  cinoper  .  .  ." 


Toils  and  Pleasures.  267 

Yet  this  is  but  half  the  picture  ;  our 
Silverado  platform  has  another  side  to 
it.  Though  there  was  no  soil,  and 
scarce  a  blade  of  grass,  yet  out  of  these 
tumbled  gravel-heaps  and  broken  boul- 
ders, a  flower  garden  bloomed  as  at 
home  in  a  conservatory.  Calcanthus 
crept,  like  a  hardy  weed,  all  over  our 
rough  parlor,  choking  the  railway,  and 
pushing  forth  its  rust}^  aromatic  cones 
from  between  two  blocks  of  shattered 
mineral.  Azaleas  made  a  big  snow- 
bed  just  above  the  well.  The  shoulder 
of  the  hill  waved  white  with  Mediter- 
ranean heath.  In  the  crannies  of  the 
ledge  and  about  the  spurs  of  the  tall 
pine,  a  red  flowering  stone-plant  hung 
in  clusters.  Even  the  low,  thorny 
chaparral  was  thick  with  pea-like  bios- 


268         The  Silverado  Squatters. 

som.  Close  at  the  foot  of  our  path 
nutmegs  prospered,  dehghtful  to  tlie 
sight  and  smell.  At  sunrise,  and  again 
late  at  night,  the  scent  of  the  sweet  bay 
trees  filled  the  canyon,  and  the  down- 
blowing  night  wind  must  have  borne  it 
hundreds  of  feet  into  the  outer  air. 

All  this  vegetation,  to  be  sure,  was 
stunted.  The  madrona  was  here  no 
bigger  than  the  manzanita ;  the  bay  was 
but  a  stripling  shrub;  the  very  pines 
with  four  or  five  exceptions  in  all  our 
upper  canyon,  were  not  so  tall  as  my- 
self, or  but  a  little  taller,  and  the  most 
of  them  came  lower  than  my  waist. 
For  a  prosperous  forest  tree  we  must 
look  below,  where  the  glen  was  crowded 
with  green  spires.  But  for  flowers  and 
ravishing    perfume,    we    had    none    to 


Toils  and  Pleasures.  269 

envy ;  our  heap  of  road-metal  was  thick 
with  bloom,  like  a  hawthorn  in  the  front 
of  June;  our  red,  baking  angle  in  the 
mountain,  a  laboratory  of  poignant 
scents.  It  was  an  endless  wonder  to 
my  mind,  as  I  dreamed  about  the  plat- 
form, following  the  progress  of  the 
shadows,  where  the  madrona  with  its 
leaves,  the  azalea  and  calcanthus  with 
their  blossoms,  could  find  moisture  to 
support  such  thick,  wet,  waxy  growths, 
or  the  bay  tree  collect  the  ingredients 
of  its  perfume.  But  there  they  all  grew 
together,  healthy,  happy,  and  happy- 
making,  as  though  rooted  in  a  fathom 
of  black  soil. 

Nor  was  it  only  vegetable  life  that 
prospered.  We  had,  indeed,  few  birds, 
and  none  that  had  much  of  a  voice  or 


270         The  Silvei^ado  Squatters. 

anything  worthy  to  be  called  a  song. 
My  morning  comrade  had  a  thin  chirp, 
unmusical  and  monotonous,  but  friendly 
and  pleasant  to  hear.  He  had  but  one 
rival :  a  fellow  with  an  ostentatious  cry 
of  near  an  octave  descending,  not  one 
note  of  which  properly  followed  another. 
This  is  the  only  bird  I  ever  knew  with 
a  wrong  ear;  but  there  was  some- 
thing enthralling  about  his  performance. 
You  listened,  and  listened,  thinking 
each  time  he  must  surely  get  it  right; 
but  no,  it  was  always  wrong,  and  always 
wrong  the  same  way.  Yet  he  seemed 
proud  of  his  song,  delivered  it  with  ex- 
ecution and  a  manner  of  his  own,  and 
was  charming  to  his  mate.  A  very  in- 
correct, incessant  human  whistler  had 
thus  a  chance  of  knowing  how  his  own 


Toils  and  Pleasures.  271 

music  pleased  the  world.  Two  great 
birds  —  eagles,  we  thought  —  dwelt  at 
the  top  of  the  canyon,  among  the  crags 
that  were  printed  on  the  sky.  Now  and 
again,  but  very  rarely,  they  wheeled 
high  over  our  heads  in  silence,  or  with 
a  distant,  dying  scream ;  and  then,  with 
a  fresh  impulse,  winged  fleetly  forward, 
dipped  over  a  hill-top,  and  were  gone. 
They  seemed  solemn  and  ancient 
things,  sailing  the  blue  air;  perhaps 
coeval  with  the  mountain  where  they 
haunted,  perhaps  emigrants  from  Rome, 
where  the  glad  legions  may  have 
shouted  to  behold  them  on  the  morn 
of  battle. 

But  if  birds  were  rare,  the  place 
abounded  with  rattlesnakes  —  the  rat- 
tlesnake's   nest,    it    might    have    been 


272         The  Silverado  Squatters. 

named.  Wherever  we  brushed  among 
the  bushes,  our  passage  woke  their 
angry  buzz.  One  dwelt  habitually  in 
the  wood-pile,  and  sometimes,  when 
we  came  for  firewood,  thrust  up  his 
small  head  between  two  logs,  and 
hissed  at  the  intrusion.  The  rattle  has 
a  legendary  credit ;  it  is  said  to  be 
awe-inspiring,  and,  once  heard,  to  stamp 
itself  for  ever  in  the  memory.  But 
the  sound  is  not  at  all  alarming;  the 
hum  of  many  insects,  and  the  buzz  of 
the  wasp  convince  the  ear  of  danger 
quite  as  readily.  As  a  matter  of  fact, 
we  lived  for  weeks  in  Silverado,  coming 
and  going,  with  rattles  sprung  on  every 
side,  and  it  never  occurred  to  us  to  be/ 
afraid.  I  used  to  take  sun-bath5~^d 
do    calisthenics    in    a    certain    pleasant 


Toils  and  Pleasures.  273 

nook  among  azalea  and  calcanthus, 
the  rattles  whizzing  on  every  side  like 
spinning-wheels,  and  the  combined  hiss 
or  buzz  rising  louder  and  angrier  at  any 
sudden  movement ;  but  I  was  never 
in  the  least  impressed,  nor  ever  at- 
tacked. It  was  only  towards  the  end 
of  our  stay,  that  a  man  down  at  Cal- 
istoga,  who  was  expatiating  on  the 
terrifying  nature  of  the  sound,  gave 
me  at  last  a  very  good  imitation ;  and 
it  burst  on  me  at  once  that  we  dwelt 
in  the  very  metropolis  of  deadly  snakes, 
and  that  the  rattle  was  simply  the  com- 
monest noise  in  Silverado.  Immedi- 
ately on  our  return,  we  attacked  the 
Hansons  on  the  subject.  They  had 
formerly   assured    us    that    our   canyon 

was  favored,  like   Ireland,  with  an  entire 
18 


2  74         The  Silverado  Squatters. 

immunity  from  poisonous  reptiles ;  but, 
with  the  perfect  inconsequence  of  the 
natural  man,  they  were  no  sooner  found 
out  than  they  went  off  at  score  in  the 
contrary  direction,  and  we  were  told 
that  in  no  part  of  the  world  did  rattle- 
snakes attain  to  such  a  monstrous  big- 
ness as  among  the  warm,  flower-dotted 
rocks  of  Silverado.  This  is  a  contribu- 
tion rather  to  the  natural  history  of 
the   Hansons   than  to  that  of  snakes. 

One  person,  however,  better  served 
by  his  instinct,  had  known  the  rattle 
from  the  first ;  and  that  was  Chuchu, 
the  dog.  No  rational  creature  has  ever 
led  an  existence  more  poisoned  by 
terror  than  that  dog's  at  Silverado. 
Every  whiz  of  the  rattle  made  him 
bound.       His    eyes    rolled ;     he    trem- 


Toils  and  Pleasures.  275 

bled ;  he  would  be  often  wet  with 
sweat.  One  of  our  great  mysteries 
was  his  terror  of  the  mountain.  A 
little  away  above  our  nook,  the  azaleas 
and  almost  all  the  vegetation  ceased. 
Dwarf  pines  not  big  enough  to  be 
Christmas  trees,  grew  thinly  among 
loose  stone  and  gravel  scars.  Here 
and  there  a  big  boulder  sat  quiescent 
on  a  knoll,  having  paused  there  till 
the  next  rain  in  his  Ions:  slide  down 
the  mountain.  There  was  here  no 
ambuscade  for  the  snakes,  you  could 
see  clearly  where  you  trod ;  and  yet 
the  higher  I  went,  the  more  abject 
and  appealing  became  Chuchu's  terror. 
He  was  an  excellent  master  of  that 
composite  language  in  which  dogs 
communicate  with  men,  and   he  would 


276         The  Silverado  Squatters. 

assure  me,  on  his  honor,  that  there 
was  some  peril  on  the  mountain ;  ap- 
peal to  me,  by  all  that  I  held  holy,  to 
turn  back ;  and  at  length,  finding  all 
was  in  vain,  and  that  I  still  persisted, 
ignorantly  foolhardy,  he  would  sud- 
denly whip  round  and  make  a  bee- 
line  down  the  slope  for  Silverado,  the 
2:ravel  showerino;  after  him.  What 
was  he  afraid  of?  There  were  admit- 
tedly brown  bears  and  California  lions 
on  the  mountains ;  and  a  grizzly  vis- 
ited Rufe's  poultry  yard  not  long 
before,  to  the  unspeakable  alarm  of 
Caliban,  who  dashed  out  to  chastise 
the  intruder,  and  found  himself,  by 
moonlight,  face  to  face  with  such  a 
tartar.  Something  at  least  there  must 
have  been  :  some  hairy,  dangerous  brute 


Toils  and  Pleasures.  277 

lodged  permanently  among  the  rocks 
a  little  to  the  north-west  of  Silverado, 
spending  his  summer  thereabout,  with 
wife    and   family. 

And  there  was,  or  there  had  been, 
another  animal.  Once,  under  the  broad 
daylight,  on  that  open  stony  hillside, 
where  the  baby  pines  were  growing, 
scarcely  tall  enough  to  be  a  badge  for  a 
MacGregor's  bonnet,  I  came  suddenly 
upon  his  innocent  body,  lying  mum- 
mified by  the  dry  air  and  sun  :  a  pigmy 
kangaroo.  I  am  ingloriously  ignorant 
of  these  subjects ;  had  never  heard  of 
such  a  beast;  thought  myself  face  to 
face  with  some  incomparable  sport  of 
nature ;  and  began  to  cherish  hopes  of 
immortality  in  science.  Rarely  have  I 
been  conscious  of  a  stranger  thrill  than 


278         The  Silverado  Squatters. 

when  I  raised  that  singular  creature 
from  the  stones,  dry  as  a  board,  his 
innocent  heart  long  quiet,  and  all  warm 
with  sunshine.  His  long  hind  legs  were 
stiff,  his  tiny  forepaws  clutched  upon 
his  breast,  as  if  to  leap  ;  his  poor  life  cut 
short  upon  that  mountain  by  some  un- 
known accident.  But  the  kangaroo  rat, 
it  proved,  was  no  such  unknown  animal ; 
and  my  discovery  was  nothing. 

Crickets  were  not  wantinor.  I  thouo-ht 
I  could  make  out  exactly  four  of  them, 
each  with  a  corner  of  his  own,  who  used 
to  make  night  musical  at  Silverado.  In 
the  matter  of  voice,  they  far  excelled 
the  birds,  and  their  ringing  whistle 
sounded  from  rock  to  rock,  calling  and 
replying  the  same  thing,  as  in  a  mean- 
ingless   opera.     Thus,   children    in    full 


Toils  and  Pleasures.  279 

health  and  spirits  shout  together,  to  the 
dismay    of    neighbors ;     and    their    idle, 
happy,  deafening  vociferations    rise  and 
fall,   like   the  song   of    the  crickets.     I 
used  to  sit  at  night  on  the  platform,  and 
wonder   why  these    creatures    were   so 
happy ;  and  what  was  wrong  with  man 
that  he  also  did  not  wind  up  his  days 
with  an  hour  or  two  of  shouting ;  but  I 
suspect  that  all  long-lived   animals  are 
solemn.     The   dogs    alone   are    hardly 
used  by  nature ;  and  it  seems  a  mani-"'^^ 
fest  injustice  for  poor  Chuchu  to  die  in   / 
his  teens,  after  a  life  so  shadowed  and   , 
troubled,  continually  shaken  with  alarm,   \ 
and  the  tear  of  elegant  sentiment  per-   j 
manently  in  his  eye. 

There  was  another  neighbor  of  ours 
at    Silverado,  small   but   very  active,  a 


28o         The  Silverado  Squatters. 

destructive  fellow.  This  was  a  black, 
ugly  fly  —  a  bore,  the  Hansons  called 
him  —  who  lived  by  hundreds  in  the 
boarding  of  our  house.  He  entered  by 
a  round  hole,  more  neatly  pierced  than  a 
man  could  do  it  with  a  gimlet,  and  he 
seems  to  have  spent  his  life  in  cutting 
out  the  interior  of  the  plank,  but 
whether  as  a  dwelling  or  a  store-house, 
I  could  never  find.  When  I  used  to  lie 
in  bed  in  the  morning  for  a  rest  —  vve 
had  no  easy-chairs  in  Silverado  —  I 
would  hear,  hour  after  hour,  the  sharp 
cutting  sound  of  his  labors,  and  from 
time  to  time  a  dainty  shower  of  sawdust 
would  fall  upon  the  blankets.  There 
lives  no  more  industrious  creature  than 
a  bore. 

And  now  that   I  have  named  to  the 


Toils  and  Pleasures.  281 

reader  all  our  animals  and  insects  with- 
out exception  —  only  I  find  I  have  for- 
gotten the  flies  —  he  will  be  able  to  ap- 
preciate the  singular  privacy  and  silence 
of  our  days.  It  was  not  only  man  who 
was  'excluded :  animals,  the  song  of 
birds,  the  lowing  of  cattle,  the  bleating 
of  sheep,  clouds  even,  and  the  variations 
of  the  weather,  were  here  also  wanting ; 
and  as,  day  after  day,  the  sky  was  one 
dome  of  blue,  and  the  pines  below  us 
stood  motionless  in  the  still  air,  so  the 
hours  themselves  were  marked  out  from 
each  other  only  by  the  series  of  our  own 
affairs,  and  the  sun's  great  period  as  he 
ranged  westward  through  the  heavens. 
The  two  birds  cackled  a  while  in  the 
early  morning  ;  all  day  the  water  tinkled 
in  the  shaft,  the  bores  ground  sawdust 


282         The  Silverado  Squatters. 

in  the  planking  of  our  crazy  palace  — 
infinitesimal  sounds ;  and  it  was  only 
with  the  return  of  night  that  any  change 
would  fall  on  our  surroundings,  or  the 
four  crickets  begin  to  flute  together  in 
the  dark. 

Indeed,  it  would  be  hard  to  exag- 
gerate the  pleasure  that  we  took  in 
the  approach  of  evening.  Our  day 
was  not  very  long,  but  it  was  very 
tiring.  To  trip  along  unsteady  planks 
or  wade  among  shifting  stones,  to  go 
to  and  fro  for  water,  to  clamber  down 
the  glen  to  the  Toll  House  after  meat 
and  letters,  to  cook,  to  make  fires  and 
beds,  were  all  exhausting  to  the  body. 
Life  out  of  doors,  besides,  under  the 
fierce  eye  of  day,  draws  largely  on  the 
animal  spirits.     There  are  certain  hours 


Toils  and  Pleasures.  283 

in  the  afternoon  when  a  man,  unless 
he  is  in  strong  health  or  enjoys  a  va- 
cant mind,  would  rather  creep  into  a 
cool  corner  of  a  house  and  sit  upon 
the  chairs  of  civilization.  About  that 
time,  the  sharp  stones,  the  planks,  the 
upturned  boxes  of  Silverado,  began  to 
grow  irksome  to  my  body ;  I  set  out 
on  that  hopeless,  never-ending  quest 
for  a  more  comfortable  posture ;  I 
would  be  fevered  and  weary  of  the 
staring  sun ;  and  just  then  he  would 
begin  courteously  to  withdraw  his  coun- 
tenance, the  shadows  lengthened,  the 
aromatic  airs  awoke,  and  an  indescrib- 
able but  happy  change  announced  the 
coming  of   the    night. 

The  hours  of  evening,  when  we  were 
once    curtained    in    the   friendly   dark, 


284         The  Silverado  Squatters. 

sped  lightly.  Even  as  with  the  crick- 
ets, night  brought  to  us  a  certain  spirit 
of  rejoicing.  It  was  good  to  taste  the 
air ;  good  to  mark  the  dawning  of  the 
stars,  as  they  increased  their  glittering 
company  ;  good,  too,  to  gather  stones, 
and  send  them  crashing  down  the 
chute,  a  wane  of  light.  It  seemed,  in 
some  way,  the  reward  and  the  fulfil- 
ment of  the  day.  So  it  is  when  men 
dwell  in  the  open  air;  it  is  one  of  the 
simple  pleasures  that  we  lose  by  living 
cribbed  and  covered  in  a  house,  that, 
though  the  coming  of  the  day  is  still 
the  most  inspiriting,  yet  day's  depart- 
ure, also,  and  the  return  of  night  re- 
fresh, renew,  and  quiet  us ;  and  in  the 
pastures  of  the  dusk  we  stand,  like  cat- 
tle, exulting  in  the  absence  of  the  load. 


Toils  and  Pleasures.  285 

Our  nights  were  never  cold,  and  they 
were  always  still,  but  for  one  remarka- 
ble exception.  Regularly,  about  nine 
o'clock,  a  warm  wind  sprang  up,  and 
blew  for  .ten  minutes,  or  maybe  a  quar- 
ter of  an  hour,  right  down  the  canyon, 
fannins:  it  well  out,  airinsf  it  as  a  , 
mother  airs  the  night  nursery  before  '  *^ 
the  children  sleep.  As  far  as  I  could 
judge,  in  the  clear  darkness  of  the 
night,  this  wind  was  purely  local :  per- 
haps dependent  on  the  configuration 
of  the  glen.  At  least,  it  was  very 
welcome  to  the  hot  and  weary  squat- 
ters; and  if  we  were  not  abed  already, 
the  springing  up  of  this  liliputian 
valley-wind  would  often  be  our  signal 
to  retire. 

I  was  the  last  to  go  to  bed,  as  I  was 


286         The  Silverado  Squatters. 

still  the  first  to  rise.  Many  a  night  I 
have  strolled  about  the-  platform,  taking 
a  bath  of  darkness  before  I  slept.  The 
rest  would  be  in  bed,  and  even  from  the 
forge  I  could  hear  them  talking  together 
from  bunk  to  hunk.  A  single  candle  in 
the  neck  of  a  pint  bottle  was  their  only 
illumination ;  and  yet  the  old  cracked 
house  seemed  literally  bursting  with  the 
lio-ht.  It  shone  keen  as  a  knife  throuo;h 
all  the  vertical  chinks ;  it  struck  upward 
through  the  broken  shingles ;  and 
through  the  eastern  door  and  window,  it 
fell  in  a  great  splash  upon  the  thicket 
and  the  overhanging  rock.  You  would 
have  said  a  conflagration,  or  at  the  least 
a  roaring  forge ;  and  behold,  it  was 
but  a  candle.  Or  perhaps  it  was  yet 
more  strange  to  see  the  procession  mov- 


Toils  and  Pleasures.  287 

ing  bedwards  round  the  corner  of  the 
house,  and  up  the  plank  that  brought  us 
to  the  bedroom  door;  under  the  im- 
mense  spread  of  the  starry  heavens, 
down  in  a  crevice  of  the  giant  moun- 
tain, these  few  human  shapes,  with  their 
unshielded  taper,  made  so  disproportion- 
ate a  figure  in  the  eye  and  mind.  But 
the  more  he  is  alone  with  nature,  the 
greater  man  and  his  doings  bulk  in  the 
consideration  of  his  fellow-men.  Miles 
and  miles  away  upon  the  opposite  hill- 
tops, if  there  were  any  hunter  belated  or 
any  traveller  who  had  lost  his  way,  he 
must  have  stood,  and  watched  and  won- 
dered, from  the  time  the  candle  issued 
from  the  door  of  the  assayer's  office  till  it 
had  mounted  the  plank  and  disappeared 
again  into  the  miners'  dormitory. 


ROBERT  LOUIS  STEVENSON'S  WORKS. 


TRAVELS   WITH    A    DONKEY   IN   THE   CEVENNES. 

With  a  Frontispiece   Illustration  by  Walter  Crane.     (Paper 

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reading.  The  author  set  out  alone,  on  donkey;  and  his  early  experience  forms  a 
foot,  for  a  twelve  days'  journey  over  the  ridiculous  record  o£  disaster.  —  Pyovidence 
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lights in  charming  bits  of  description  that, 
in  their  close  attention  to  picturesque 
detail,  remind  one  of  the  work  of  a  skilled 
"genre"  painter.  Nor  does  he  hesitate, 
from  time  to  time,  to  diverge  altogether 
from  his  immediate  subject,  and  to  indulge 
in  a  strain  of  gently  humorous   reflection 


that  furnishes  some  of  the  pleasantest  pas- 
sages of  the  book.  ...  In  a  modest  and 
quiet  way,  Mr.  Stevenson's  book  is  one  of 
the  very  best  of  the  year  for  summer  read- 
ing The  volume  lias  a  very  neat  design 
for  the  cover,  with  a  fanciful  picture  of  the 
"  Aretlnisa-"  and  "  Cigarette,"  the  canoes 
of  the  author  and  his  companion.  —  Good 
L  iterature. 


THE   SILVERADO   SQUATTERS.     With  a  Frontispiece 


by  Walter  Crane.     i6mo. 

Mr.  Stevenson  is  an  invalid,  and  in 
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fast  falling  to  ruin,  —  one  of  the  few  rem- 
nants of  the  abandoned  mining  village  of 
Silverado.  There,  with  his  wife  and  a 
single  servant,  considerable  time  was  spent. 
The  interest  of  the  book  centred  in   the 


$1.00. 

graphic  style  and  keen  observation  of  the 
author.  He  has  the  jiower  of  describing 
places  and  characters  with  such  vividness 
that  you  seem  to  have  made  personal 
acquaintance  with  both  .  .  .  Mr.  Steven- 
son's racy  narrative  brings  many  phases  of 
life  upon  the  western  coast  before  one  with 
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At   a   time   when   the  books  of  Mayne     details  the  stirring  adventures  of  an  Eng- 

Reid,  Ballantyne,  and  Kingston  are  taking     lish  crew  in  their  search  for  the  immense 

their  places  on  the  shelves  to  which  well-     treasure  secreted  by  a  pirate  captain,  and 


thumbed  volumes  are  relegated,  it  will  be 
with  especial  delight  that  boy  readers  wel- 
come a  new  writer  in  the  literature  of  ad- 
venture. In  "Treasure  Island,"  Robert 
Louis   Stevenson  takes  a  new  departure. 


it  certainly  has  not  a  dull  page  in  it.  Yet 
the  author  has  contrived  to  keep  the  sym- 
pathy on  the  side  of  virtue  and  honesty, 
and  throw  upon  the  pirates  that  odium  and 
detestation   which   their  nefarious  courses 


and  writes  one  of  the  jolliest,  most  read-  deserve ;  and  the  book  is  one  heartily  to 
able,  wide-awake  tales  of  sea  life  that  have  be  commended  to  any  sturdy,  wholesome 
set  the  blood  tingling  in  the  veins  of  the  lad  who  is  fond  of  the  smell  of  the  brine 
boys  of  at  least  the  present  generation.  It  and  the  tang  of  sailor  speech  in  his  read- 
is  decidedly  of  the  exciting  order  of  stories,  ing.  —  Boston  Courier. 
yet  not  of  the  unhealthily  sensational.     It 

PRINCE    OTTO.     A  Romance.     i6mo.     $1.00. 

Whatever  Mr.  Stevenson  writes  is  sure  is  so  charming  in  every  page  this  author 

to  be  interesting  and  even  absorbing ;  and  has  published,  and  so  unhackneyed  that 

to  this  "  Prince  Otto  "  is  no  exception.     It  one  knows  not  what  to  expect  from  any 

is  a  graceful  and  unusual  romance,  full  of  one    paragraph    to     the     next.  —  Boston 

surprises,  full  of  that  individuality  which  Courier. 

s,^d  every-iu/u'ye-     Postpaid  hy  Publishers, 

''•  ROBERTS.  RP OTHERS.  Boston, 


c  ^ 


3.PR 


1  9  l^sS^i,  i 


6  AVU^ 


t^iico, 


SWIRL  mAViH 


rm  L-9-15m-7,'31 


UCLA-Young  Research   Library 

PR5488   .S58   1895 

y 


L  009  603   506  8 

UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBS,,^{l||,'ffi|| 


A  A  001  412  846  6 


